


Melt The Ice And Just Swim

by wildaloofrebel



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: If you want to know more about that to avoid triggers please let me know!, M/M, do you like cliches? ME TOO, mostly just dumb boys being dumb and in love, warning for some talk of terminal illness and an OC death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildaloofrebel/pseuds/wildaloofrebel
Summary: A collection of missing moments and basically just me filling in some gaps with fluff and general stupidity.Mostly this is canon compliant but I added some things as I went, cus fun.I hope you enjoy this and the rest of Open Fic Night!





	Melt The Ice And Just Swim

When he was young, Patrick Brewer was a take the reigns kind of boy, brash and bold in a way that only childhood really permitted. He was always smaller than the other kids he knew, tiny for his age, but he stood tall and proud no matter what. His early years were some of the happiest of his life, sunny and free, and he was eternally grateful for them.  
As he got older, though, life began to chip away at him. He lost things, people and pieces of himself, and inch by inch he stood a little more slumped, living his life to make the people he cared about happy because he didn't know what else he was supposed to do. By the time he had left his younger self and the awkward years of adolescence behind, it seemed like all of his choices had already been made before he even really knew that there were choices to make. He felt like he woke up one day and his life was made for him, like someone else had been pulling the strings and left him on stage, unsure of whether or not he wanted to carry on with the show.  
Now though, he was getting himself back. He had the idea to move away one night and was in Schitt's Creek two weeks later, tired of things just happening to him, wanting desperately to get that part of him that took charge back. He really liked that part of him, and if he didn't find it again here, it was at least a start. A choice that he made for himself.  
He just needed something. What he wanted that something to be wasn't clear yet, it just needed to make him feel like his life was his again.  
"Patrick?" Ray calling his name managed to bring him back into the room and out of his head. "B13."  
"This is for you," the man next to Ray held out his ticket.  
Beautiful, bright eyes met his as they shook hands, his palms suddenly clammy. His breath caught in his chest, and he felt a grin pull at the corners of his mouth. After they sat down, he was enthralled in David's words, rambling and incoherent but captivating, he could have listened for hours. When he left, Patrick found himself smiling into the empty office.  
Well, that's something.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Since moving to Schitt's Creek, David had been looking for something, and he finally found it in the store. When he was pulled kicking and screaming out of his old life and into his new one, he had finally accepted the fact that he would live the rest of his life under a rock or something and never do much of anything ever again. He said goodbye to everything his old world had to offer and landed with a thud in the middle of nowhere.  
He didn't miss it as much as he used to, but he missed having an apartment filled with handpicked, beautiful things from all over the world. He missed eating food that actually tasted like it didn't come from hell. He missed skyscrapers and cocktails and new clothes. He missed not having to worry about money, but he didn't miss the people that money attracted, didn't miss filling his apartment full of them whenever he was sad or high or heartbroken or lonely. He also didn't miss waking up next to someone who made him feel sick about the things he had done the night before.  
That wasn't him anymore, he had decided. The person who kept people at an arm's length with money and drugs because, after a string of horrible heartbreaks, he found it easier than actually knowing people, was gone. In his place, a person who wasn't entirely sure of who he was yet, but wanted to find out.  
That made arrogance pretty attractive to him right now, as you can imagine, and after their second meeting, David spread out on his single bed and found himself thinking of Patrick.  
In his experience, overly cocky people either turn out to be complete idiots or complete assholes. Patrick didn't really seem like either, his teasing left David blushing and the fact that he spent time listening to David's voicemails long enough to make sense of them was actually kind of sweet.  
Sweet in a horrifically distressing kind of way.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
At the table in their room the next day, David's thumbs ghosted over his phone, planning then replanning his next move. In theory, it was just a text, one he didn't technically even need to send. But here he was, nervously twitching and thinking of Alexis. _No one cares._ The words flitted through his mind like an irritating gnat, so he started typing and hit send before he could again talk himself out of it.  
_Hi Patrick just wanted to thank you again for your help_  
He read it over after he sent it, and winced, hating how forced and awkward it looked.  
_Sorry for bugging you so much before_  
_And again now_  
If he could just stop typing, this would be much easier. He slammed his phone down on the table and pushed himself out of his seat. As he paced around his room, he rubbed his eyes hard with his fingers, part of him hoping Patrick had dropped his phone down the toilet or moved to Uzbekistan and left it in his office. He couldn't help but think of Alexis again; she either didn't care if people thought she was making a fool of herself, or she just didn't notice that she was. Irritating. And kind of commendable. His phone vibrated, and he wanted to climb up on the roof and throw it as far as he could, which admittedly wouldn't be very far. Instead, he opened it, quickly finding himself smiling.  
_**Bugging me? I have no idea what you're talking about. - P.**_  
_You sign your texts? Are you secretly 80?_  
If Patrick was allowed to start making fun of him three seconds after they first met, David can now.  
_**I remember now! The voicemails! - Patrick M. Brewer.**_  
_You can just delete those_  
_**I think I need to keep them. I might forget that my name's not David.**_  
_How are you going to forget your name when you write it after texts?_  
**_That's fair_**  
**_Are you in the store tomorrow?_**  
_Yes, I'm a very hard worker_  
**_Checks out. You mind if I bring some papers over for you to sign?_**  
_I can come to you if that's easier_  
**_I don't mind, I'd like to get a look at the place_**  
**_What's your coffee order?_**  
_Caramel macchiato skim_  
_2 sweeteners_  
_A sprinkle of cocoa powder if I feel like it_  
_Why?_  
Four texts in a row wasn't weird, it was fine, all of this was completely fine.  
_**Sounds gross**_  
**_I'll grab you one on the way_**  
_Make sure the waitress pays attention as she makes it_  
_She's very chatty and I once watched her put seven sweeteners in my friend's coffee_  
_**That's exactly what you want in a waitress**_  
_Don't say anything bad about Twyla, I think she can hex people_  
**_I will keep that in mind_**  
**_I should go, I have to be up early so I have time to say all of your coffee order_**  
_Can I ask you something before you do?_  
**_Yep_**  
_What does the M stand for?_  
**_Goodnight David! - Patrick Middle Name Brewer_**  
_Goodnight. - D._  
It had been a long time since he laid in bed and reread texts but that's exactly what he did, pulling his blanket up over his grinning mouth.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
He didn't like the warm feeling in his face. He didn't like being a grown man that got all dopey and smiley whenever a cute guy was nice to him. He didn't like that the memory of Patrick saying o _h, I'm gonna get the money in that low_ , confident voice made him a little hot all over. He didn't like the fact that he barely knew the man and already thought about him more than he cared to admit. He didn't like that when Patrick offered to help move the products he had said yes too quickly and drawn a little mocking laugh out of him.  
What he didn't like the most was that he actually liked all of that. He liked it too much.  
This wasn't what he had expected or wanted really, he had done the liking a straight guy thing and it was hot once upon a time, but now it was just boring. And it never ended well for him. But he was here now, in the middle of his freshly leased store, with his new friend - or whatever Patrick was - organising lip balms on the counter, keenly aware of his presence.  
Every day after their first meeting, Patrick had been at the store, even if it was just for a while to check in, he seemed to really care which was very cute. For the last few days, it had been for longer periods, now that he was officially working with David he seemed to have more and more interest in being around.  
"Can you drink this?" Patrick asked. He was behind David on the other side of the table, and when David looked back at him he was holding a bottle in each hand.  
"No. It's body milk, anyone with a fiber of common sense knows you don't drink body milk."  
"I don't know what body milk is," Patrick said, prompting David to turn around and face him, eyes wide. "Does that surprise you?"  
"Uh, not really, you don't strike me as a body milk kind of person."  
"What kind of person do I strike you as?" he was teasing again, that's all he seemed to do.  
"The kind of person that washes his face with bar soap and lets his mom cut his hair," David said, he could play, too. "And pick his clothes."  
"Ouch," he gasped, grinning broadly and making David cringe over the things he would do to make him smile just like that over and over. "What's worse; someone who's dressed by his mom, or someone who shares a bedroom with his?"  
"We have a door," David countered, pretending he wasn't smiling. "Now."  
"I don't think that's quite the argument you think it is."  
"Well, no. But I'm not the one trying to drink moisturisers, so."  
"Is that what this is?"  
"What were you expecting?"  
"I don't know," Patrick shook his head, shrugging sheepishly. "I don't know what I expected."  
David shook his head because, honestly, he wasn't sure what he had expected either.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
For once, there was no plan. He left David at the store and just walked until he ended up here, in the middle of nowhere, just trying to pick a path. To the right, there was a clear trail, with footprints and a pathway, even the trees made arches, an easy guide into something he was sure would be lovely. The left, though, was a little more off the beaten track. There was a path but it was overgrown, the grass knee high and branches dangled from trees, swaying gently in the humid summer breeze. He made the choice he wouldn't usually, he went against what was laid out for him and marched left.  
When he lived at home and he was feeling particularly overwhelmed, he would find someone, a friend or cousin or his Dad, and make them throw balls at him to hit as far as he could. With no particular finesse or talent, he would just swing and watch them fly. But in Schitt's Creek, he hadn't made friends with anyone enough to make them do that, and he couldn't imagine the one he had made ever taking off his sweater to play baseball with him.  
Sometimes he would play his guitar, too. But now he lived with Ray who didn't just like to chat for hours, which was actually kind of nice, he also liked to jam. Badly.  
This is what his Mom did, though. When he was young, when things were hard she would grab his hand and they would walk. Sometimes they would talk, mostly they were silent, just thinking, just making the best of things. They would walk and walk for hours until they found their way back home, feeling slightly less helpless.  
Helpless was probably a little dramatic; he often felt like he was drowning, just trying to keep his head above water and not fall under the waves completely, but he wasn't helpless anymore. The stifled feeling had lessened when he moved away, but the guilt that took it's place was almost as suffocating. It wasn't that he didn't love his parents, he really, really did, more than anything, his old life just never felt like his. And the more he tried to fit into it, the more the threads stretched and the holes began to show. So when he found himself back in his parents' house after his most recent, final break up, he didn't even unpack his boxes, he picked a town near enough to be able to visit home but far enough to find something different.  
When he started dating Rachel in high school, he spent most of his time waiting for it to happen. He wasn't exactly sure what _it_ was, but he saw his friends navigate their way through crushes and falling in love for the first time and figured he would know when he felt it. He didn't, though, and, after watching them all trip over themselves and look like loved up idiots, he thought there was something wrong with him. Because Rachel was everything any could ask for, kind and brilliant and the smartest person he had ever met, and Patrick loved her so much. She was the best friend he had, but it never worked, it never clicked into place no matter how hard they worked. She should have fit perfectly in the life Patrick was meant to have, the life with the perfect wife and perfect kids and a boring but bill-paying job. That life was perfectly nice but one that Patrick never felt at home in, despite trying so hard all his life. Even when he left it behind, he couldn't understand why.  
Then David Rose burst into his life in a flurry of voicemails and enchanting eyes and Patrick was captivated instantly. He had never met anyone like him before, no one whose presence filled a room instantly or struck a breathless feeling right to the core of him. From the second he shook his hand, Patrick was hooked. He probably looked the way his friends used to, hanging onto every word David said but he couldn't stop it. He'd never felt like this, so completely out of control that he listened to the rambling voicemails from a man he barely knew to calm himself down.  
This should've been something he had considered before. All his life he had seen other guys and felt a hot rush of something he didn't understand. He probably didn't understand it because he didn't feel it for girls the way he thought he was supposed to. So, when he caught a glimpse of a stranger in a locker room and felt weird and warm all over, he shrugged it off, filed it away in the back of his brain with the images of sweaty baseball players and Calvin Klein ads his cousins had secretly passed around one summer. He'd pushed it all down, kept it all inside, and lived the life that everyone wanted for him until he burst at the seams with it. Running, leaving his family behind, seemed like the cleanest option at that point.  
Now he was here, probably at least a little gay and a lot sweaty, at the top of a mountain outside a town he hardly knew, thinking about the beautiful, strange, fascinating man he couldn't get out of his mind and he felt it, finally. It made sense, the pieces started fitting together, his mind started feeling less full. He felt breathless and smiley and wide-eyed and a little sick and more at home than he ever felt anywhere else. It was everything, and he wanted more. That was terrifying.  
It didn't have to be, though, he thought. It didn't have to be scary or shameful, he could just enjoy being giddy and nervous, he could dive headfirst into David, and figure out the consequences later.  
He could go to the left, into the unknown, with no real plan, and end up somewhere beautiful.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn't dying - that was ridiculous, he was basically in his late twenties. But when his heart was hammering too fast, too hard in his chest, and his hands were almost vibrating, and vomit threatened his stomach and throat, it was kind of hard to be rational. He knew what this was, knew he just had to try and slow his breathing, close his eyes and will away the tears in them, think happy thoughts until it passed.  
The floor in the back room was soothingly cool, welcomely icy against his too hot skin. Sweat was beading over his forehead and neck, and he debated whether or not he should lie down. Instead, he straightened his back and sat upright, back flush against the wall behind him. The deep, slow breaths were helping, but he was still very aware of the fact that he might throw up or pass out or die any second.  
"David? You here?" a voice called from the other room. Patrick was here. Usually, that would make him like blushy and nervous and sweaty but, well, that was already taken care of. This was his nightmare.  
"Yeah, I'm back here," he said, deciding against just ignoring him until he went away. He should have probably tried to make himself look like he wasn't about to be horrendously ill but it was too late for that.  
"I knew you were working here all day, I thought you might be in need of some coffee," his voice was closer now, and when David looked up he was in the doorway, to-go cups in hand. "You okay?"  
"I'm wonderful," he said, sounding like a more hysterical version of himself. Patrick frowned, his eyes flicking over David who just sighed. "Panic attack."  
"Oh. Is there anything I can do?"  
"No, it'll pass, you can go."  
"Okay," he said but he didn't leave, he sat next to David, leaving a safe amount of space between them, and set the cups on the floor in front of him.  
"I'll be fine, you don't have to stay."  
"No, I know. This is for me," he settled back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. "You seem like you're going to be great company right now."  
"Definitely," he smiled and closed his eyes, his head thunking back against the wall.  
"Do you want to talk about it?" David didn't open his eyes but he guessed Patrick was looking at him.  
"Not really," he said quietly. They sat in silence. David focused on his breathing, on fighting the horrible, hot feeling trying to take over his body. When he opened his eyes, Patrick was looking at the ceiling. "Do you ever just feel completely overwhelmed?" he asked quickly.  
"Yes," Patrick answered quicker, nodding like he knew exactly what David meant. "I really do."  
"I can't imagine that. I don't think you've ever felt insecure about anything."  
"We're talking about you right now, David," he said with a shy looking grin. "What's overwhelming you?"  
"Would you like a list?" he asked and hoped he wouldn't have to give one he was pretty sure _I think you're very cute and I like you too much_ would be number three and four, possibly higher. Sebastian Fucking Raine would probably be number five, but no higher, he wouldn't allow it.  
"I don't think we have time for a list, this floor is very uncomfortable," they were quiet for a while before Patrick added, "you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to, but I'll listen if you do."  
He didn't want to. He wanted to tell Patrick to get the fuck out. He wanted to run back to his motel room and hide under the covers until someone else was forced to lease the store and everyone just forgot that it was his in the first place. Or at least stay there until the nasty feeling in his gut left him alone.  
"Before I moved here," he said quietly, and hated the sound of his voice. "it didn't matter if what I did didn't work out; I had my Dad's money and connections to bail me out. No one cared," he didn't want Patrick to know about any of his past; Patrick's nice and good and he would have hated David back then. He's not completely sure why he likes him now. "If this fails, I fail. I'll have messed up the only thing I've ever done on my own. I don't want to ruin this."  
"You won't ruin this."  
"You don't know that."  
"No, I don't."  
"Thanks so much, that's very helpful."  
"I just mean, I don't know what's going to happen when we open those doors," he said calmly. "I think this is going to be great. But if it's not, if it completely flops and we become penniless and homeless -"  
"I don't need to worry about that, I own the town."  
"You own the town? We're going to circle back to that one day, but I'll leave it for now," he shook his head with a laugh and David wanted to kiss him, shut him up. "If the store isn't the success I think it will be, you won't be a failure."  
"Yes, I will."  
"One thing not going to plan doesn't make you a failure, that's very dramatic."  
"Have you met me? That would be very on brand."  
"Right," Patrick said, his teeth biting his lip, trying to suppress a laugh and making him so fucking cute. "Hey," he nudged David with his elbow and leaned in a little closer than was probably necessary.  
"What?" his voice was higher than intended. Too breathy. He hated himself.  
"If this place really tanks, you can just blame me to save face."  
"Really?"  
"I won't tell anyone," he winked at him and David was fairly sure he stopped breathing. "You have a great idea here, and my business model is just as good. We're going to be good together."  
There wasn't much he could say to that without thoroughly humiliating himself, so he just nodded. The frantic feeling was calmer now, less consuming, and he was caught between wanting to keep listening to Patrick's voice and wanting him to stop before he made David admit to himself that he liked him a lot more than he had intended.  
"I got you a coffee," Patrick said again, scooting one of the cups along the floor, stopping in front of David's legs, still crossed and now numb. "But now I think that that won't help with this manic energy."  
"No," David laughed.  
"So you can have my tea," he said. "And I will drink what I assume tastes like warm, melted ice cream."  
"Shut up, you were almost nice," he said.  
"I don't think I would have helped with your business if I wasn't nice, I think that's very nice."  
"Oh, I thought you heard my stellar business plan and knew you had to be involved."  
"No, the voicemails did that."  
"Can we just agree to delete those and never talk about them again?"  
"No, I will be keeping them."  
"That's not nice."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The store was unpleasantly warm after Stevie left; the sun beamed through the windows, casting long shadows and near unbearable heat. He had already shed his button up in favour of his white undershirt, and he failed to understand how David could stand to be wearing a sweater. And a beanie. And a shower cap.  
They were unpacking the last few boxes, ones containing perfumes and colognes that Patrick stopped to smell whenever he came across a new one, that remained for their imminent opening. While they chatted about not much in particular, Patrick found himself reveling in every new detail he learned about David, no matter how small. He learned that David hated anything coconut scented after an incident with a former girlfriend in Amsterdam many years before - Patrick wanted to press for details but didn't - but loved anything cherry scented, especially the lip balms. He found out that David went to seven different schools between the ages of nine and eighteen, including four boarding schools, and that he learned to ride a bike and got his drivers license since moving to Schitt's Creek.  
"Am I talking too much?" David had asked at one point.  
"No, I like listening to you."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah, I think you're funny."  
"Funny?"  
"Interesting. I think you're interesting."  
"Oh. Okay."  
That was a good enough answer apparently because they went back to their easy conversation, and Patrick found himself more enamored every second he spent with him.  
"Oh, my God. What is that?" David asked seemingly out of nowhere as Patrick reached across the table for the moisturisers on the other side.  
"What?" his arm was grabbed, and he hoped the flush on his cheek would go unnoticed.  
"That," he pointed to where his sleeve had ridden up a little, and Patrick was suddenly very aware of what David was talking about.  
"That's nothing."  
"Liar," David gently rolled up his sleeve gently and stared, mouth open, eyes wide.  
"Fine, it's a tattoo."  
"I can see that," his finger traced the outline of the little sun that lived on the inside of Patrick's bicep. He was stood too close, and he hoped he'd never move. "Do you have a secret, shameful past that I don't know about?"  
"Oh, totally," he didn't say much more; he liked watching David squirm a little too much. "What's the big deal?"  
"I just thought I knew who I'd gone into business with. I thought you were, like, born wearing a blue shirt and those rubber things on your fingers. You're probably the most straight-laced person I've ever met. And you were a business major. I don't think I've ever even heard you swear."  
"I swear."  
"I'm learning so much about you today," his eyes flicked back and forth between Patrick's arm and his face, a very pleased little grin tugging at his mouth. "Is this the only one you have?"  
"No, I have a portrait of Ryan Reynolds on my lower back."  
"Nude?"  
"Yes, but it's very tasteful," David grinned Patrick's favourite grin, bright-eyed and lovely. "You want to see the rest of it?"  
"The rest of it? Who are you?"  
"You know what? If you don't want to see it, that's fine," he teased and began to pull away.  
"No, I want to see it."  
"Fine, but if you laugh, I'm leaving you," he rolled his sleeve up over his shoulder and held his arm out for David, who twisted it gently. He was even closer as he looked, and Patrick felt a little on fire.  
"I like it," David said softly after a moment. He looked up at Patrick and added, "I didn't know you liked The Beatles."  
"I'm actually not their biggest fan, it's kind of a family thing," he explained and hoped that would be enough.  
"I think it suits you," he straightened up and when he stepped back Patrick felt stupid for missing the closeness. "Sometimes tattoos are garbage; like Alexis has four, that I know of, and they're all complete trash. She has the name Nicole on her hip, which is a story for another day. But yours isn't, so," he was grinning again, wicked and handsome. Patrick nodded and narrowed his eyes.  
"I'm really glad you don't think it's garbage, thanks."  
"You're so welcome," they shared a smile and Patrick was again made aware of how close they were. He liked being close, he decided, and found a little joy in the blush spreading over David's temples and cheeks. He hadn't seen him like this often, kind of open and relaxed, but in recent days he had seen this version of David more and more. He liked him a lot.  
It was as if David had noticed their proximity too because he took another step back. He tried his best not to smile when he noticed David looking at his mouth as he moved away.  
"I should - I should get the next box," he stuttered and Patrick liked that too; he liked how cute David got when he was flustered.  
"Okay."  
Patrick watched him disappear into the back room and was grateful for the chance to will his sweaty palms and racing heartbeat away. If there were any doubts left about his crush, they were gone now. He knew what it meant for him, knew that maybe things would be a little more complicated now, and that added to the knots in his stomach.  
The knots untangled, though, as the opening bars of Here Comes The Sun drifted from the back room.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Wanting to touch someone all the time doesn't mean you like them. You can want to grip someone's shoulder and hold their hands and kiss them and not like them. It wasn't like he was thinking about having sex with Patrick. At least, he wasn't constantly thinking about that. He shared a room with his sister, that could get very awkward very fast.  
It totally wasn't weird to think about how good your business partner looks in white or to touch him when you don't really need to. David didn't even like touching, not really, not with people he didn't know that well. But he kept touching Patrick's arm when he really didn't need to and it was so embarrassing but what was more embarrassing was that he thought about that touch for hours after.  
You can like someone as a friend or colleague and occasionally think about the sound of his laugh until you fall asleep, that wasn't inappropriate, that was fine. It was totally fine to want to hear him talk but be unable to stop the relentless string of lunacy from projectile vomiting all over the walls of your new store all the fucking time.  
Stevie had said he was flustered and he wasn't. He just blushed a lot when Patrick talked to him, and usually found whatever he said insanely hot. Even if it was words like inventory or profit forecast. But flustered made him sound like some hormonal teenager talking to their crush and he wasn't that, he just sometimes got warm and jittery when Patrick was around. Also, sometimes when he wasn't.  
So, maybe his feelings weren't entirely platonic, he was realising slowly. Maybe thinking about someone constantly and finding the tiniest reason to be close to them was an indication that you liked them. The fact that Patrick's natural confidence and the easy way he torments David with mouth grinning around a laugh made David want to kiss him until his smirk disappeared probably meant that he wanted something that Patrick probably didn't even want to give. Yes, there had been flirting, but there was a chance he was just like that, the man was terminally polite to everyone he met.  
He rolled over in bed and frowned at his sleeping friend. There was nothing he hated more than Stevie knowing she had got under his skin. When his eyes closed he thought again of Patrick, of his lit up eyes and his mouth when it moved silently as he counted, and decided there were no maybes in this; he was already stupidly, absolutely in this, whatever this was, even if it wasn't much of anything.  
He wanted to wake Stevie up and yell at her but he didn't really think he could argue about it, because he had no interest in arguing if he wasn't going to win.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"You nervous? About tomorrow?"  
"A little bit," David said. Patrick frowned so he added, "a lot."  
"It's going to be good, I know it."  
"You say that, but you don't."  
Standing on the step outside the store, they were supposed to be saying goodnight but had been talking for the past fifteen minutes. The sun was setting now, night covering the town with a cool breeze. Not that David noticed, he felt sunny all over.  
"You don't need to argue with everything I say, you know."  
"No, only when you're wrong."  
"Right," Patrick shook his head. "I'll see you tomorrow, David."  
"Not if I skip town instead," he watched Patrick go, making his way to where his car was parked near the cafe. As he walked he turned, fixing David with a smirk that lit his face up.  
"You won't be able to enjoy the big day if you skip town," he smirk grew into a laugh when David groaned.  
"Is it going to be big, though?"  
"We're going to have a big, hard launch, David," he shouted across the street.  
"Okay, thank you so much."  
"Embrace it."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
There was a moment after their date, after he dropped David home and they kissed, when Patrick was alone in his room and safely away from Ray, that he thought he might actually explode. If he weren't worried about making a mess of the flowers covering the walls he might have let it happen. It was a consuming, overpowering feeling pulsing through him, akin to anxiety, maybe, but not quite. It wasn't like nerves, it wasn't even bad, it was just there, seemingly unshakable in its course.  
He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his eyes with hands until his vision blurred. He thought of David, as he often did recently. Easily the most extraordinary person he had ever met, he pulled Patrick right off the path he had seen himself staying on just weeks ago, and unknowingly guided him onto the right one. Patrick was sure he would have found it on his own eventually, but finding it here with this man in this strange town made finding it all the better.  
Tears, sudden and hot, spilled onto his cheeks. The overwhelming flutter in his stomach calmed into a warm, soothing relief that spreads everywhere, sinking deep into his bones and swelling inside of him until he was sure you could see it breaking through his skin.  
He touched the side of his face, his jaw where David's hand had been, and let out a short laugh when the skin there felt cool and unchanged. That doesn't seem right; surely everything had changed, like he was a different person this morning, like now everything fits. Now he doesn't feel as if he's too big for skin and suffocated by it, doesn't feel as though he's trying his best to look right in someone else's body. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room and knew then he was sure he knew exactly who he is.  
When he closed his eyes he saw David's, open and shining. He remembered how they fluttered open when they pulled away from each other, looked at him disbelieving and beautiful, and Patrick wanted to dive into them. It wasn't like him to be so cliched but he had just been kissed by David Rose and couldn't muster any embarrassment. Instead, he allowed himself to revert to the giddiness usually saved for teenagers after their first kiss. That's kind of how he felt anyway, back against his pillows, staring at the wallpapered ceilings with his face split into a grin.  
The feelings from before were gone, there was no angst now, no fear, no guilt; he just felt good. He had always thought that this kind of thing, romance and relationships, were a battle by design. It wasn't that his relationship had been awful, far from it, but there was always something wrong, something he couldn't put his finger on, that made things fall apart, every time. When he left his home, he had expected the next one to be the same. He had expected things to be just as ruining, just as hard.  
It wasn't hard though, falling for David was the easiest thing he had ever done.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"So, when you say slow," David said, bending his neck to kiss Patrick again. "This is allowed?"  
"I said slow, not glacial, David," he mumbled.  
It was easy, too easy really, to get lost in Patrick; in the feel of his lips against his stubble, his hands gripping his thighs, the rise of his chest as he breathed hard under David's hands. It was dizzying because really it wasn't much, it was fairly innocent actualy, but this was Patrick, and they had barely started kissing and he already felt like he might lose himself in it.  
"You feel good," he breathed, shuffling forward in Patrick's lap, practically pinning him against the back of the couch. He wanted so much all the time, even when Patrick wasn't around, but it was more blatant whenever he was close to him. _Go slow,_ the voice in his head said. He forced himself to ease up, dragging himself back until he was perched on the edge of Patrick's knees. "Slow. This isn't very slow."  
"I'm finding it very hard to remember why I wanted that in the first place," he said, fingers hooking into the waist of David's jeans and pulling him back in.  
"Because," he started, kissing him once, then once more, then tilting his head away. "You're obsessed with me, and you want to drag this out as long as you can."  
"Is that right?"  
"I think so."  
"I think you're probably right. Kiss me."  
"Excuse me, sir, this is a place of work, you're making me very uncomfortable."  
"I'm so sorry," Patrick whispered, teeth at David's ear, his neck, his shoulder. "You're right."  
"Obviously."  
"We should stop."  
"That sounded painful."  
"Believe me, it was," he helped David out of his lap very gracefully, falling onto the couch next to him, and he got his first eyeful of a very rumpled, very flustered looking Patrick Brewer.  
"It's nice to see you not so put together."  
"It's your fault."  
"I know. I like it."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Something you need, David?" Patrick asked. He was helping out a customer bag up their products, and David had been basically bouncing next to him as he worked.  
"No, no, I'm fine," he was only partly lying, his stomach had twisted up into something similar to stage fright and, while not entirely unpleasant, he couldn't wait for them to be alone.  
"Have a nice day," Patrick said, smiling kindly as the customer left. "You're not nervous, are you?" he didn't even look at David as he spoke, focusing instead on closing down the register for the night. Bastard.  
"Hmm, no. This isn't my first time, believe it or not."  
"Really? I had no idea."  
He's pulled in suddenly by his wrist, pinned against the wall behind the counter and kissed so hard he forgets he's in a public place, forgets about Stevie's offer, forgets that other people exist altogether. When Patrick pulled away from him he rested his forehead against David's, his eyes focused, staring into his and making him want to set himself on fire a little bit.  
"We should go to Stevie's," Patrick whispered, voice low and throaty.  
"Sure, I mean, whatever."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The store had been pretty slow most of the day. There had been two customers since Alexis had left after lunch with a fist full of lip balms, and Patrick had had a little too much time to think. Seeing David fall apart over compliments from some idiot kleptos had sparked an idea, so he joined David behind the counter, standing close and watching him watch his phone.  
"Can I help you?" David asked, right on cue.  
"I was just wondering if you know CPR," Patrick said, trying to keep his tone neutral.  
"Huh? Why?" he asked, looking up from his phone and frowning at him.  
"Because you are taking my breath away."  
"Ew, what? Ew."  
David turned his attention back to his phone, ignoring Patrick's laugh. He made himself hard to ignore though, sliding his arms around David's waist and pressing him against the counter.  
"Are you a parking ticket?" he said. "Because you've got fine written all over you."  
"That was awful," he said, locking his phone and dropping it onto the counter.  
"Okay, okay, let me try again," he rested his cheek on David's shoulder and thought for a minute. "Are you from Tennessee, because -"  
"I'm the only ten you see," David finished, turning in his arms and half grinning.  
"They don't work if you ruin them, David."  
"They don't work anyway, and I don't think you need my help ruining them," he kissed him anyway, his arm coming up to rest loosely around Patrick's shoulders.  
"I think I lost my phone number."  
"Okay, that's enough from you," he pulled away, freeing himself from Patrick's arms.  
"Oh, wait, David," Patrick grabbed his arm and stopped him from leaving. "Did it hurt?"  
"What?"  
"When you fell from heaven."  
"Oh, my God,"  
"Because with an ass like that, you gotta be an angel."  
"That's not even how that one goes."  
"I know; I changed it just for you," he said, swatting David's ass as he turned to walk away.  
"Mmm, 'kay. I'm going to go to the cafe, grab some coffee."  
"Yeah, you must be thirsty after running through my mind all day."  
"Okay, I think we should see other people," he said, shutting the door behind him and waving through it.  
He watched David leave, giddy and smiling, and decided to not let the sick feeling that settled in his stomach when he noticed two texts on his phone ruin his day.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
He had been dreaming of something, something warm and nice, all consuming and wonderfully suffocating, though he couldn't remember exactly what it was now. As he woke, he shifted in bed and felt the solidness of a body next to him. Patrick. Patrick was here, he was in Patrick's bed. Patrick was his boyfriend now. His eyes opened slowly, and when he saw Patrick lead on his side watching him he startled.  
"Ew. Were you watching me sleep?" he turned over, facing away from him and squeezing his eyes shut again.  
"No. I wasn't watching," Patrick spooned up behind him, his lips finding his neck.  
"Because that's a very creepy thing to do. Are you some kind of creepy deviant who watches people sleep?"  
"Yes, I'm a creepy deviant. I'm disgusting."  
"Well, admitting you have a problem is the first step. Good job," he patted Patrick's hand where it was resting on his stomach.  
"I don't have a problem."  
"No, watching someone sleep is normal."  
"I wasn't watching you sleep. You just - You ..." he trailed off, and David rolled over slightly to look at him.  
"I what? What have I done?" he asked, hearing the panic in his voice at the same time he felt it tingling through his body.  
"No, nothing. You haven't done anything," his voice soothed as his hand rubbed over David's arm gently. "You just ... snore sometimes."  
"What? No, I don't," he snapped upright, effectively throwing Patrick off of him. "Why would you say that to me?"  
"Am I the first person who has?"  
"No," he said, voice high, mouth hanging open. "Alexis has, but she was also telling me that I have three grey hairs at the back of my head so she's a vicious liar."  
"I haven't noticed those," he said, dipping his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse.  
"Stop it! Ugh," he flopped back into the pillows, pulling the blankets up over his head and hoping Patrick never spoke to him again.  
"I think it's cute," Patrick said. When David pulled the blanket back over one eye, he was met with a smiling face. "In a foghorn, plane flying right overhead kind of way."  
"Oh my God."  
"No, come here," he grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it down, revealing David's scowling face. He kissed him lightly on the nose and smiled.  
"You hurt my feelings," he pouted.  
"Let me kiss them better," he captured David's mouth, kissing him until he let Patrick kneel between his legs.  
"If we want to talk bad bedroom etiquette," David muttered, letting Patrick kiss his neck because there really wasn't an argument bad enough to stop him. "We can talk about your morning breath."  
"Wow," Patrick bit down on the skin he was kissing, where his neck meets his shoulder.  
"Out of control."  
"If we want to talk about out of control," his boyfriend teased, lips ghosting over his t-shirt clad collar bone. "We can talk about your bed head."  
"Now you're just being ridiculous," he said, pulling him up for another kiss.  
With Patrick's mouth on his, Patrick with his hands under David's shirt looking for contact and skin, he could have stayed here for hours. Days, even. In the back of his mind, he thought of the store, about how they needed to leave to be there in an hour. He thought of the bathroom down the hall, with a shower and a shelf full of travel sized products that David had left there, and couldn't find it in him to care about any of it. Instead, he opened his mouth a little, and pulled Patrick down closer, perfectly content to just do this instead.  
"Gentlemen," Ray's entrance dashed that thought, and they snapped apart like they were two teenagers being walked in on by their father.  
"Good morning, Ray," they both said at the same time. Patrick added a patient, "Remember what we said about privacy?"  
"Just wanted to let you know," he said, ignoring Patrick's question completely. "There's a fresh pot of coffee on the kitchen table, and I'm out for the day now."  
"Okay, thank you, Ray," David said with scarily forced politeness. When Ray closed the door behind him, Patrick collapsed onto David.  
"I hate it when he does that," he sighed, his face pressed against David's chest.  
"Me too," they waited, stuck in place until they heard the front door shut behind Ray. "I need to shower; sort out this bed head," he felt Patrick smile against him.  
"It's really annoying; you're very cute when you first wake up."  
"I'm cute all the time."  
"True," he sat up and kissed David again, too quick for his liking. Patrick's phone beeped on the nightstand, and he rolled away from David to answer it.  
"Someone's popular at seven o'clock," he said, climbing away from Patrick and towards the door.  
"Wait," Patrick said, stopping David in the doorway. "I'll join you."  
"Lucky me."  
"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."  
Then Patrick kissed him, warm, nice, all consuming, wonderfully suffocating, and David thought maybe he hadn't been dreaming at all.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Does your mom always call you 'sweetheart'?"  
"Yes. Why?"  
"Because she left a comment on the store's Instagram."  
"What does it say?"  
David handed him his phone and, after squinting to read the small print, Patrick felt a grin tugging at his mouth. The screen showed a picture that David had taken of Patrick outside the store, up a ladder and cleaning one of the windows. Underneath, his mom had commented _be careful, sweetheart!_ with a blue heart emoji.  
"I like her," David said, locking his phone and putting it on the nightstand.  
"You've never even met her."  
"What I'm saying is, I like her, so I'm not at all jealous that she has a name for you and I don't."  
"You want to give me a pet name?"  
"I don't know, I've never given someone one before."  
"Aww," Patrick crooned. "You can give me one."  
"Let me think," he said. HE turned to face him more straight on and murmured, "Can't have sweetheart."  
"No, or sweetie; that would just make me think of my mom, and I'm guessing that's not what you're going for."  
"Not really," he was quiet again, thinking.  
"You're so handsome," Patrick whispered.  
"Shut up," David shook his head. "Honey."  
"Honey? Because I'm sweet?"  
"Or, like, sticky and oily."  
"Oh, nice," Patrick grinned, leaning in to kiss David's laugh away. "Now I have to give you one."  
"You don't have to, but I wouldn't be opposed. Unless it's babe, because I'm guessing you don't want to sound like Alexis talking to a dumb vet or a dumb barn man."  
"Barn man?"  
"Long story."  
"I see; not babe, got it."  
"But -" he said, snapping his jaw shut suddenly.  
"But?"  
"Nothing, I was going to make a suggestion but you should probably be the one making this choice, so."  
"David," Patrick said, finding himself grinning for what was probably the thousandth time that day. "Why don't you just tell me what you want me to call you?"  
"Because that's not how this works!"  
"Come on."  
"It's not so much what I want you to call me," he said, leaning into Patrick. He allowed himself to be nudged onto his back, looking up at David when he hovered over him. "I just wouldn't hate, uh, baby, maybe."  
"That rhymed, baby. Remind me to never put you in a corner."  
"Okay, if you're going to make fun of me, never mind."  
"No, no, I like it," he gripped the back of David's head and pulled him down for a quick kiss. "Baby."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"I don't know what else you want to know."  
"Everything," they were lying in Patrick's bed in his room at Ray's, on their sides facing each other, whispering between quiet laughs.  
"Everything?" Patrick asked. "Any specifics?"  
"No, just everything," he said, kissing Patrick for what was definitely not the first time that night.  
"I don't know where to start."  
"I wasn't aware you had lived such a life," Patrick pinched his side. "I don't know that much about you."  
"That's not true."  
"It is," David whined. "Like where did you grow up? Where did you go to college? Who's your favourite band? What's your middle name?"  
"Okay, okay," he said, kissing David to quiet him. He linked their fingers together and smile. "I was actually born in Washington, but my parents are Canadian, and we moved back here when I was a kid, I think I was two-ish. Back to Fern Hills, like four hours from here, it's even smaller than Schitt's Creek."  
"Doubtful," David said. "You're close with them, aren't you?"  
"Yeah, pretty close. They're great, I think you'd like them both."  
"Would they like me?"  
"I can't imagine someone not liking you."  
"Really?"  
"No. But my parents will," he kissed David between his brows where he was frowning. "You grew up everywhere, right?"  
"Yes. Toronto and New York mostly, though. London for a little while, my Mom was very briefly in Follies in the West End, so."  
"Wow."  
"You have not lived until you've heard Moira Rose belt Broadway Baby."  
"I'm sure," Patrick could see it clearly. "College was next, right?"  
"Right."  
"Okay. I got my degree from Queen's, but I got my MBA from HEC."  
"Fancy."  
"Oh, yeah," he laughed. "But working on a wheat farm, and in a supermarket, and coaching little league baseball during the summer, that wasn't so fancy."  
"I was a bag boy once."  
"Seriously?"  
"Yeah, for two hours."  
"So you get it then," Patrick said. David nodded and rolled onto his back, hands grasping one of Patrick's. "My middle name is Michelangelo, and we're going to move past that until I can trust that you won't make fun of me."  
"I just want you to know, that there will never be a time when I don't make fun of Patrick Michelangelo Brewer."  
"Shh," they kissed again, sweet and smiling, and Patrick wanted to melt right into him. "Do you have a middle name?"  
"I don't know."  
"You ... you don't know?"  
"My parents don't remember because they aren't known for retaining information that isn't directly about them," David explained, incredibly blase given that he was telling Patrick he doesn't know his full name. "And don't tell me that's something they passed onto me, because that's already been suggested and I don't appreciate it."  
"Okay," Patrick laughed again and silently wondered whether Stevie or Mrs. Rose had made that suggestion. "I'm sorry, anyway, that sucks."  
"That smirk you're wearing looks very sorry," David said, nodding and looking pointedly at Patrick's mouth. He leaned over and kissed him, happy to let that be his apology. "You can give me one if you want."  
"A middle name?" David nodded again. "Okay."  
"That faces makes me regret it."  
"No takebacks," he thought for a moment and said, "David Hasselhoff Rose."  
"Shut up."  
"Umm," he trailed his finger slowly up David's arm. When he stopped at his shoulder he tried again, "David Beckham Rose."  
"So hot."  
"I know, I watched a three hour TV special about him once, and I don't even like soccer."  
"You didn't know you were gay, though."  
"We're actually making fun of you right now, not me," he said, ignoring David when he snorted. "How about Bowie?"  
"Kind of into that."  
"That's not it then."  
"Of course not."  
The finger previously tracing David's arm ghosted over his neck, over his jaw and the skin in front of his ear. He cupped David's face and kissed him again, this time slower, holding him there until David's hand fisted in the back of Patrick's t-shirt. David trying to pull him on top of him was the only reason he stopped, not because he really wanted to, he just wasn't done yet.  
"Pretty Boy," he murmured deeply, lips almost touching David's. He beamed so Patrick added, "no, that's your middle name."  
"David Pretty Boy Rose," he said deliberately. "That makes me sound like a bare-knuckle boxer from the 1940s."  
"I think it suits you," he kissed David's cheek with a grin.  
"You think I'm pretty?"  
"Don't fish for compliments when I just gave you one."  
"You've just never said this to me before."  
"Okay, David," he leaned across him and turned off the lamp on the nightstand.  
"You haven't!"  
"Time to sleep," he led down against the pillows and closed his eyes.  
"I would actually like to talk about how you think I'm pretty."  
"Night night," he said, eyes still closed. When he opened them again, he saw a grinning David biting his lip and watching Patrick. He pushed himself up on his elbow and hovered just above David's face. "I think you're very pretty, okay?"  
"Okay," he whispered, looking too pleased with himself.  
They kissed again and Patrick finally gave in, let himself be pulled on top of David and figuring that sleep didn't really matter.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
At this point, burning down the store and running away with the insurance money seemed like a very good idea. He didn't exactly know if they had insurance, but he was sure Patrick had taken some out before they opened.  
Patrick, who was now on stage, tuning up an acoustic guitar of all things and chatting easily with the crowd.  
"Can't miss him," Patrick said, earning himself a tight grin. David made a mental note to make him pay for that later.  
That was forgotten, though, as soon as Patrick opened his mouth again, as soon as the guitar started and David couldn't have moved then if he wanted to. He forgot about everything else because that's what Patrick did, every time he kissed him or spoke to him or even looked at him, the rest of the world faded until it was just them. That happened now, and if it weren't for his mother's grip on his arm, it would have just been the two of them.  
He had heard Patrick sing like that before, when it was just the two of them in Patrick's bed. Quieter then, voice low and just for David, softened by sleep, whispered into David's skin like a secret.  
Out loud now, he shared it with the world, and why shouldn't he? There had been a threat of embarrassment earlier but that was gone, he was so far away from being upset that he couldn't even really remember why he had been, though that would probably come back to him later. If people were looking at him, he didn't care, he hardly noticed. Petrified and dazed and shaken, he watched, captivated and so, so in love.  
Oh, God. He's in love.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"So you're just teaming up with my mother to torment me now?" David stood at the other end of the bench Patrick was sat on and squinted at him. He looked remarkably like his sister, Patrick thought, with his hand on his hip and his face indescribably annoyed.  
"Yes, David, this is all part of our plan to ruin your life, we have a text chain and mood boards and everything," he said as David flopped onto the bench next to him, Ray's picture distracting between them. "That's what the past four months have been; the long con."  
"Wouldn't be the first," David said. "I dated this guy for almost three months before I realised he was using me for my Dad's helicopter so he could visit his fiance, so."  
"This is exactly the same thing," he pecked David's cheek and ignored the unsettling sting of David's words. "If you really don't want me to go to the barbecue, I won't. I think it would be nice to spend more time with your family, but I won't go if it makes you uncomfortable."  
"I'm not uncomfortable," he said quietly. "Will you give me your sharpie?"  
"What?" Patrick asked, trying very hard to work backward and understand where that came from.  
"I know that you have a mini black sharpie and one of those tiny pens you steal from the bank in your pocket, and what's yours is mine."  
"We're not married yet, David," he said before he could decide that that was a bad idea.  
"Yet?" David's eyes were bright, his face teasing and Patrick wanted to kiss the smirk right off of it.  
"Do you want my sharpie or do you want to get married?" he asked, fisting his hand into his pocket and pulling out his pens.  
"Are you proposing? Right here on Ray's bench?"  
"Obviously."  
"So romantic," David sighed as he snatched the sharpie. After uncapping it he started scribbling on Ray's picture, blacking out one of his teeth.  
"What the hell are you doing?" he tried to grab the pen from David's clutches but he just held his arm back out of Patrick's reach.  
"You need to keep watch."  
"I'm not being an accomplice to your crimes."  
"He's ruined our life, Patrick, do you know how much sex we could have had if it weren't for Ray?"  
"Fine," he lamented, turning his head as subtly as he could.  
"I just worry," David said, quiet as he focussed on completely covering Ray's front teeth. "That the more you get to know about me, about my past, the less you'll like me."  
"I worry about that, too," he admitted. "Not about liking you less, about you liking me less."  
"I don't think there's much you could have done that would stop me liking you."  
"Maybe we should start being a little more honest with each other then."  
"Maybe. I just don't want to jinx this. I haven't been this happy in ... ever, actually. I don't think I've ever been this happy."  
"Neither have I," he said seriously when David was done with his crime. He covered the hand still holding the sharpie and squeezed it. "We're not going to jinx this."  
"We're not?" he turned Patrick's hand and draw a small heart right in the middle of his palm.  
"No," he said, pulling David's hand up to his mouth so he could kiss his knuckles and watch him blush. "Long con, remember?"  
"Right."  
He should have told him everything then but he couldn't stand the idea of doing anything that would wipe the smile of off David's face. He kissed it instead, couldn't help himself, and decided on soon. Soon he would tell him everything, answer every question, deal with every consequence, and hopefully they would come out closer. For now, though, he would enjoy David and his family and the barbeque and more David.  
They kissed for a while longer until David pulled back with a sweetly embarrassed grin.  
"My mom can probably see us from here."  
"It's all part of our plan," he kissed David again quickly, on the cheek this time. David just scoffed.  
"Ew."  
"You should draw a mustache next."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
This all felt like a bad dream, like if he blinked hard enough he would wake up under the covers at Ray's and everything would be fine again.  
But he wasn't dreaming, he was wide awake, not at Ray's but in Rachel's car. Rachel, who was sweet and so smart and so perfect for him in almost every way and was now looking at him with such a shocked sadness that it made everything in Patrick ache.  
"You're gay," she said into the silence.  
"I am, I'm gay," he whispered, realising that that was the first time he had said the words out loud. "I'm sorry."  
"For being gay?"  
"No for," he sighed, pinching the throbbing bridge of his nose between his fingers. "For everything else."  
"Did you know, when we were together?" she asked, voice quiet and sounding quite far away. "Was any of it real?"  
"It was all real," he said. He grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly and rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. There was no way he could tell her everything; he couldn't tell her that a part of him always knew,that he tried so hard to love her more than he did, to love her better, but just couldn't, that he waited for her to sleep after sex so he could go and shake apart in the bathroom, that the thought of marrying her had made him have panic attacks in the middle of work. That he had wanted to want her more than he could ever tell her, that he hadn't known what it was meant to feel like until he met David, and everything started to make sense. He couldn't tell her any of that, because she had been his best friend since he was a teenager, and the thought of hurting her any more than he already had, of being unnecessarily cruel to her, broke his heart. "I didn't know, but I knew. That - That doesn't make sense, and it does nothing to help, I'm just so sorry," she turned away from him, he couldn't blame her, it was a sorry excuse for an explanation. But the truth wouldn't be any better.  
"Fuck, Patrick," it was her turn to sigh then, turning back to face Patrick with a sad kind of smile. "You must have been miserable."  
"No, I wasn't miserable."  
"But you weren't happy."  
"I was just," he stopped, unsure of how to explain it to her when he couldn't even explain it to himself. "I was trying."  
"You're a good man," she said, surprising him.  
"How can you even say that now?"  
"I know you, I have done since we were kids. I've watched you run yourself ragged to try and make everything normal, happy."  
"Rach. Please don't make excuses for me."  
"You have," her voice was quiet, serious. "Since Alice, you have done everything to try and make life perfect. And you were miserable."  
"I wasn't. I just, I don't," he trailed off, not wanting to talk anymore, wanting to just make everything better.  
"You make sense to me now, is what I'm saying."  
"I do?"  
"Yes. It makes sense, all the breaking up and the shutting me out, and the needing everything to go as planned, it makes sense," she thunked her head back against the seat and let out a deep breath. "It all makes sense."  
"I don't know what to say," that wasn't exactly true; he had about a million things he wanted to say, things that maybe wouldn't make this any better but would maybe help them both understand. Or maybe not, maybe it was best to just not say anything. "He doesn't even know about her."  
"Oh, Patrick."  
"I know. I've just been so scared of talking about any of it, you and her and home, and scaring him away. So, I just kept it all in."  
"And scared him away anyway."  
"Yep," he nodded, feeling utterly sick. "I'm sorry, Rachel."  
"I know you are," she said softly. "You know, I was always too cool for you anyway."  
"True," he said, choking out a horrible sounding laugh. He was struck then by the realisation that, under any other circumstance, she would probably get along with David.  
"Maybe now we both get to find something that makes us happy," she squeezed his hand hard, he could have cried.  
"I hope so," he squeezed back, a little exhausted. "You deserve it."  
"Well," she said, leaning over to press gentle kiss to his lips, the last kiss she would ever give him. "We'll always have Paris."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alexis was telling him something but her voice was just a very shrill white noise. The words 'Ted' and 'finding myself' managed to stand out a few times, but other than that he had no idea what his sister was talking about. Not that she seemed to mind; she could make conversation in an empty room, a trait that was both mind-numbingly annoying and admirable at the same time. He was less concerned with what Alexis was talking about and more worried about the crack in the ceiling above his bed that he had been staring at for days. When he chanced a glance at his phone, he saw it had only been twenty-eight hours.  
Whatever, it felt like days.  
He felt stupid for not realising how much time he actually spent talking to Patrick. Between his ceiling staring and the bouts of weeping, he had made the poor choice of reading their text chain and noted that four days ago they had texted for three hours straight, after spending the day together at work. And that wasn't even unusual, it was all he had to distract himself from the monologues his family tended to rant through every few days. A distraction he was sorely missing now.  
"David?"  
"What?"  
"I said 'are you even listening to me?'"  
"Oh," he sighed. "Yes, I am listening."  
"Okay, great," she said, and apparently that was all she needed to hear before launching right back into whatever she was talking about.  
The thing that bothered him the most about this whole mess was that he didn't even want to be angry anymore, he didn't want to be fighting, he didn't want to be not talking to Patrick. In fact, he wanted the exact opposite of that. He wanted to be together so bad but he had done this before; he had been the third in marriages, knowingly and unknowingly, he had been the rebound and the experiment and the last resort, and he had hated almost all of it. Now, he wanted things to be different because he thought Patrick was different.  
And he was, marginally different from anyone he had ever dated. He wasn't selfish or conceited or cruel, he was sweet and generous and made David feel so good about himself it was almost possible to forget about everything else.  
Now though he was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore his sister, missing him more than he thought it was possible to miss someone.  
He hadn't consciously decided he was leaving until he'd snatched the car keys off the table and noticed Alexis' bewildered face.  
"That's so rude, David, I was trying to get your opinion," she said as he opened the motel door.  
"Okay, well, my opinion is you should go for it."  
"Go for what?"  
"I don't know ... it. Just do it."  
"Ugh, if you get in a car accident, I'm telling them to pull the plug."  
"'kay, bye," he slammed the door behind him louder than necessary and made his way to the car.  
The roads were pretty much deserted, thank God. It was almost midnight so he figured that made sense, and anyone he passed at this time was probably just as insane as him, so they had no place to judge.  
He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, content to just drive and drive until he put miles between him and Schitt's Creek. The night's warm air flooded through the windows, the cassette player blared Shania Twain, and with a full tank of gas, he could go pretty much anywhere he wanted.  
So he did.  
After pulling into the short driveway, he left the car running, the door open, the radio on, and jogged up to the door. He banged on it three times, ignoring the doorbell, and debated with the thought of leaving right up until it opened.  
"Hey," Patrick said. He took in David's general appearance and started to ask, "what's wron -"  
"I don't want to talk about it yet," he said quickly, cutting him off. "I just - I need," he sighed loudly, unsure of what he needed.  
"What? What do you need?"  
He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped towards Patrick, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his warm face into his neck. He squeezed tight and worried, briefly, that this wasn't okay, but two arms were around him before he could ask. They pulled him closer, and David felt a kiss pressed against his sweater-clad shoulder. Then his temple, then his cheek, then Patrick hooked his chin over David's shoulder. Strong hands pressed him ever closer, held him gently but so sure, so good, he could cry. They stood like that for a while, letting the soft breeze warm their skin. Patrick's thumb drew small circles over his back, and he really thought he could stay like that forever.  
He couldn't, of course, he had to leave; he had to go home and stare at the crack in the ceiling and think.  
"I'm not ready yet," he murmured.  
"I know."  
"I will be, though," he said when he pulled away. "We'll be okay, won't we?"  
"I hope so," he was quiet and sad and David hated it; hated the slump of his shoulders, hated the bags forming under his eyes, hated the crack in his voice.  
"You're meant to say something better than that."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Don't say that again."  
"I'm - okay," he changed then, and looked more like Patrick, confident and sure. "I can't make you any promise other than I will fight like hell before I lose you, I will do anything you need, wait as long as it takes, I promise," it was David's turn to be surprised by a hug then, so he hugged back quickly before detangling himself.  
"I need to go," he didn't wait for a reply, he just turned and headed back to the car.  
"David," he stopped and looked back. Patrick's mouth opened and closed, forming unspoken words, before he said, "text me when you get home safe."  
There was nothing else to say, at least not now, so he just nodded and got back in the car, knowing that that wasn't what Patrick had really wanted to say.  
It was hard to say he felt better as he drove back to the motel, but he felt lighter, a little like he was on more solid ground. Last night and this morning had felt like the devastating, awful end to the most amazing relationship he had ever had, but it didn't feel like that anymore; there was a glimmer of hope getting bigger, and that would be enough for now.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The fact that he was going overboard really wasn't lost on him.  
It started with chocolates two days after David showed up at Ray's. Or, the day after David showed up at Ray's, given that it was well after midnight by the time he left. Chocolates, he figured, were a good start seeing as David's sweet tooth outsized his eyebrows. They went over well based on the purple heart emoji that landed in his inbox a little while after they were delivered.  
As he ordered flowers the next day from the store, he did what he had done a couple of times a day since the Rachel thing. He opened his phone and pressed play.  
"Hey, David, it's Patrick," a pause, and Patrick laughed as he did every time. "I um-was just calling to run my business plan, uh, by you in a little more detail. So feel free to give me a call back, and I will be happy to walk you through it. Okay, ciao."  
"Ciao," he said aloud, to himself or maybe he hoped David would somehow hear him.  
Cherry blossoms and peonies were express shipped to David and Patrick listened to the next message until a customer came in wanting one of the brooms with a red handle and some breath mints. He texted a brag to David who replied with three middle finger emojis. Later, though, he got another text that read; _brooms are hideous, flowers are lovely._  
After work the next day he drove out to a little bakery called Lio's just outside of town. It was a small, family-owned business that had been there for decades and passed down from grandparent to parent to Iliana. Discovered by David about a month before, he had posted a picture of a particular choux pastry filled with cream and covered in white chocolate and caramel on his Instagram - the private one that Patrick was allowed to follow only after being sworn to secrecy - so Patrick figured four in a cute box left at the front desk with Stevie should count as an olive branch. On his way home he rolled down the windows, let the hot air fill the car, and opened his phone again.  
"Hi, Patrick. Yeah, I think I - I think I called you David," these messages made so much more sense now that he knew David got high before he sent them, and had made for hours of torment over the last four months. "Which that's not - that's not your name," he laughed again as he sped along the near-empty roads. The texts were nice, better than he expected given the circumstance, but the sound of David's voice was music to his ears.  
The bracelet took a little more time. He knew he needed something bigger. Flowers and sweet things were fine but to win David back as he had promised he needed to make a bigger statement. For a little while he looked online, his laptop hot on his lap as he stretched out on his bed. The next morning, after having no luck, he decided to check out the market they frequented to find new products on his lunch break. He found it there on a stall cluttered with jewelry, a simple silver chain. Perfect for David.  
Another text came two hours after he had left the bracelet with Alexis at the motel to give to David. He was lounging on Ray's couch, his head resting against the arm and his body stretching along the cushions, when his phone vibrated on the coffee table. When he grabbed it and saw the name, something hopeful bloomed inside him as it had every time David had spoken to him at all in the last few days.  
_I miss you_ , was all it said. Another came less than a minute after, _should I not have said that?_  
_**I don't know, I'm glad you did.**_  
_you're meant to say it back_ , he could practically hear David's whine through the phone, could see his face so perfectly as he read it. _unless you don't._  
**_I do, I promise._**  
_really? how much?_  
**_It hurts to think about._**  
_maybe you should let it hurt, tell me about it_  
**_What?_**  
_sometimes I think you forget to feel your feelings_  
**_Oh._** He wasn't sure how to reply, honestly. Three dots bounced on the screen, and he waited for whatever message was coming.  
_I just mean that maybe you need to start sharing your burdens with other people. I share mine with you, I'm sure you feel very burdened by me_  
**_I feel a lot about you, burdened has never been one of those feelings._**  
In his heart, he knew David was right. They were different in ways that probably wasn't obvious on the surface. Patrick had been known to bury things. He had pushed being gay so far down he had been engaged to a woman, for one example. It was different now, though, with David. He could tell David what he meant to him because he knew exactly what he felt. It wasn't uncomfortable or hard because he felt it every minute, it swallowed him whole and left no room for uncertainty. It was steady and sure and obvious and he didn't need to work it out anymore it was just there, all day, all the time. But other times he was all over the place, and he didn't like that. He preferred being able to be in control of things, and dealing with his thoughts could be messy. It was safer to keep those things in where no one else would have to worry about him, so when he needed to deal with them, he ran or he hiked until he worked things out.  
David, on the other hand, felt everything all the time. It could be seen in his watery eyes and the twist of his mouth. He had such an immense capacity for love and had so much of it to give; he's an incredibly generous and emotional person under his sharp wit and sharper tongue. But people had taken advantage of that, and every time someone ignored him or used him or hurt him a brick was laid in the walls he built around him. It was easier, Patrick figured, than having to rebuild himself whenever some idiot who didn't appreciate how fortunate they were to be wanted by someone as remarkable as David Rose left him feeling alone. Because he had had that privilege; he had been trusted enough by David to be allowed to see him vulnerable and open. In return, Patrick had hurt him. He was the most recent in a long line of idiots.  
Now he was pressuring him with gifts and messages when what David wanted was space. Maybe it was time to take a step back, let him deal with it how he wanted, and come back to Patrick when he was ready.  
_I'm going to bed now, the text came a few minutes after. Night P._  
**_Goodnight, David._**  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
He had felt good this morning, hyped even. After his talk with Stevie, he knew he was ready. For the past few days, he had done nothing but think about Patrick and what had happened, and the more he thought, the more he understood. Patrick was a fixer, a keep things together kind of person, and not telling David about his ex was probably a very misguided effort to make sure things kept going as well as they had been.  
They needed to talk, that was startlingly obvious. He wasn't particularly worried now about learning more of Patrick's past; someone who was just going to leave him for an ex-fiancee and brush their relationship off as some experiment wouldn't have fought for him the way Patrick had. What scared him most was talking about his past, because Patrick was probably the most decent person he had been with, and David's life before him was often very not that.  
So that's what he did, despite his doubts, he marched over to the store and they talked. Or, he tried to talk; Patrick seemed to have other ideas. Sweet, understanding Patrick, who had probably given himself an ulcer or something worrying about him.  
When they spoke again an hour later, it had ended with Patrick holding his face and telling him off and he would have felt much worse about it if he hadn't been feeling like everything was coming back together.  
As he watched Patrick leave, with a look of disbelief and huffed _unbelievable_ , he knew that he was in too deep to ever find a way out. And when he smiled to himself in the empty store, he knew he just needed a plan.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Before the song had even ended, Patrick pulled David off the floor and into his lap. He didn't kiss him at first, just dipped his head and pressed his face into the sweaty skin of his boyfriend's neck.  
"I missed you," David whispered, out of breath and perfect in his lap. He caught his mouth in a kiss, David's hands gripping the collar of his shirt tightly.  
"I missed you, too," he said. David's finger slipped under his shirt, nails digging into his skin. They kissed again, insistent and desperate and too much. He didn't want to stop but he had to, breaking away from him and chuckling at David's whine. "I know," he rubbed his open palms over his back, pulling him closer. "I just think that before we, you know, make up, we should talk."  
"Don't wanna talk."  
"Me neither, but I think we should."  
"Fine," David sighed.  
"But for now I think we can just stay here."  
He knew he was right, that had a lot to talk through but he wasn't worried; they were together, they could work the rest out.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"I think I just wanted this to be perfect, you know?" Patrick's voice was a little thick, a little watery, when he spoke. "I want this to be good, for both of us. You haven't had it easy with relationships, and I think that I can admit now that I haven't either. I just wanted to make this good."  
"It is."  
They were in Patrick's room, too close together for the heat but unable to pull apart, sprawled out on his bed. He stretched his back, the unforgiving headboard leaving him a little achy, and looked at Patrick  
"I know, I know it is," Patrick reached over and grabbed his hand, linking their fingers together tightly. "I think I just got so caught up in trying to keep this up and enjoy it, I skipped over a few conversations about the past that probably would've been good to have."  
"Yes," he said, nodding slightly. "But that's probably not entirely your fault."  
"No, I -"  
"I just mean, I didn't ever ask because I knew that you would probably have questions of your own," he started, suddenly not wanting to talk anymore. "And the answers to those questions would probably have had you leaving so fast there would be a Patrick shaped hole in the store wall."  
"David," he sighed, tightening his clasp on David's hand. "I don't think there's anything you could tell me that would make me change my mind about you."  
"You don't know that."  
"I do," he said, voice much surer, much steadier than it had been. "I am in this. Whatever you tell me about who you were won't change that."  
"Do I have to tell you all of it?"  
"No, not if you don't want to," he answered quickly. "Do I?"  
"Not if you don't want to," he echoed, shaking his head, unsure of whether he wanted to know every detail or nothing at all. "Are you still in love with her?"  
"No. I'm not in love with her, I love her in the way you love someone who's been in your life for a long time."  
"I don't really know a lot about what that's like."  
"I just," he stopped, shaking his head slightly, quiet for a minute as he searched for the right words. "Before I met her, I never really had feelings for anyone before. So when she moved to my school and we laughed at the same things and liked the same dumb movies, everyone said we should get together. So we did," he stopped for a breath, and David was glad to have a second to catch his own. "And I tried so hard for so long thinking that if I worked at it harder or changed things about myself that I would be better. But that was too much pressure, so we would fight and we would break up. Only to get back together because I thought if I can't make it work with someone who, on the surface, seemed so right for me, what was wrong with me?"  
"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you," he drew him in, pulled on his shoulder until his head was on David's chest.  
"I know that, I get it now," David scratched his finger gently through Patrick's hair, only relaxing when he felt him calm in his arms. "I didn't know then, why I was so confused and out of my depth. I know now."  
"Yeah?"  
"Hmm," they simultaneously wrapped their arms around each other, quiet bar the wind outside. "Because I don't need to fight or change for this to feel right, it just does."  
"It does, doesn't it?" he murmured. It was hard to express, but he felt exactly the same. Before Patrick, before Stevie, before Schitt's Creek, he had been lost without knowing it. He thought he was happy, he thought that all the beauty and excitement that came with all the shit was enough to make him happy, to tie him over until the next thing came along. Now, though, he knew he didn't need that, he didn't need to spend his life trying to keep up with whatever everyone else was doing; there was something else that was so much better. "I used to be the same way, you know."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah," he rested his cheek against the top of Patrick's head, glad that he didn't have to look him in the eye. "It wasn't exactly the same, I never had someone who could stand me for so long, but I would change and let people take what they wanted as long as they stuck around for a while," he stopped talking abruptly, suddenly sick with the memories of begging people to stay, to want him, telling them he would give them anything they wanted if they just stayed with him. "I just wanted someone to want me, which is incredibly humiliating now that I look back on it."  
"I don't think that's humiliating," Patrick said.  
"You don't?" he asked softly.  
"No, I think that's normal," he tilted his head back, looking up at David with big eyes. "I also think those people were idiots."  
"No, I was a -"  
"They were idiots," he insisted. "And I know that this won't make up for all of it, but I want you to know that you never have to change for me to want you because I honestly don't think I could stop if I tried."  
"That might make up for some of it, possibly."  
"Good."  
"You could have told me," he said quietly.  
"I know, I promise that from now on I will work on talking about ... stuff more. I'm sorry."  
"You don't need to say that again, I know."  
Patrick sat up and kissed him then, his hands fisted in David's sweater. He smiled into it, pulling Patrick up by his grip on his neck. They had more to talk about, other things they needed to put right but, for now, they kissed, and everything got lighter.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"I need to tell you something," Patrick said, leaning against the door of his room. "Don't look so panicked."  
"Nothing good ever comes from _I need to tell you something_ ," David said, freshly moisturised and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, unable to hide his rising panic. "Do you want an open relationship?"  
"No, David."  
"Are you leaving me to run away with Chet?"  
"Chet? From Miller's Farm? No."  
"He's very handsome."  
"He is, but that's not what I'm talking about; I would never leave you for someone called Chet."  
"Okay. But, just so you know, if there's some other woman from your past that's going to show up with, like, a wedding ring and a baby and a mortgage, we're going to start having real problems."  
"I'm guessing you don't want the triplets to call you Uncle David, then?"  
"You're very funny."  
"I know," he said. He made his way over to the bed, mirroring David when he sat down. "I'm just trying to work on talking about things that might be, I don't know, upsetting?"  
"You're not helping your case," he whined. The damaged part of his mind, although quieter now, told him to get the fuck out, but this looked like it was important to Patrick, so he braved through it. "Go on."  
"I don't know where to start," he watched as a normally confident Patrick pulled at the hem of his soft pyjama pants nervously. "Hang on," he said, kneeling up to lean over and dig for something in the back of the nightstand. When he returned to his spot, he handed David a picture, one of a younger Patrick, maybe fifteen years old, laughing and rolling his eyes as a pretty girl with long red curls looped her arms around his neck, holding him in a tight hug with a wide grin.  
"Firstly, we need to talk about your curls later," David said, taking the photo from Patrick. "She's cute, who is this?"  
"That's my sister," he said quietly. "Her name was Alice."  
"Oh," he breathed. When he looked up his heart broke a little; Patrick wasn't usually a crier, but his eyes were wet and red.  
"Sorry," he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.  
"Is she?" he stopped there, feeling like asking if someone had died was a little crass, maybe.  
"Yeah," he whispered wetly, nodding gently. "She got sick just after I started high school, and got much sicker not long after," he paused again, letting out a long, shaky exhale.  
"You don't have to talk about it, not if you don't want to."  
"I want to, it's just hard," he held out his hand for David, and started talking again when David took it. "I want to be able to talk about anything with you."  
"You can, I'll listen."  
"She kept having all this treatment, but the doctors told us she wouldn't get any better," his eyes filled up again, big and brown and broken. "And one day they called us in, said it wasn't going to be long. So my mom got in bed with her and held her, and my dad and I held her hands and, she wasn't awake, but we just talked to her and told her we loved her until she was gone."  
"Oh, honey," he rubbed his hand up and down his arm in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "How old was she?"  
"Almost nineteen. Which I used to think was so grown up but it's not, she was a kid," he shook his head sadly. "I hate thinking about her and feeling like this. She would've hated it, she made everyone so happy all the time. I wanted to be like that."

"I could've told you that."

"I tried really hard."

"Do you think that had something to do with not dealing with your feelings for so long?" he tried to piece it together but struggled; as much as Alexis annoyed him like no one else he had ever met, and as often as she had been doing God knows what with God knows who, he couldn't begin to imagine how he would even keep going if he actually lost her. "Losing her and wanting to make people happy?"  
"I think," he sighed, uncharacteristically unsure looking. "I think that I'm a people pleaser, I think that I had a very nice life planned for me that I didn't want to ruin, I think I never let myself feel what I really felt because I heard what people said about people like me," David watched him take a steadying breath, his hand tightening in his grip. "I think my parents are two of the most amazing people you could ever meet, and the thought of not living up to what they want me to be, or disappointing them, makes me," he stopped, leaning into David. "I couldn't admit to being gay because I wasn't really sure. I didn't have this big realisation, there was just always this feeling that something wasn't fitting right. And it makes so much sense now, you know?"  
"Yes, I do."  
"I had to make sure everyone liked me and try to be perfect at everything, perfect son, perfect student, perfect boyfriend, because I was trying to make something work that wasn't right," he sighed, raising David's hand to his lips and kissing the back of it, his wrist, his knuckles, and smiling. "It's right now, though."  
"Really?" he asked, still a little disbelieving when it came to someone sweet like Patrick wanting him.  
"Really," he nodded. "Alice dying and me being closeted were two different things, but I think I have often reacted to them in the same way, and now I think I'm starting to feel differently about them both."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah," he seemed more like himself, so David relaxed, his hand still tightly grasping Patrick's. "I like that now, despite all of what's happening with my face right now, I can think about her and remember her for who she was, not how she died. And, I can know who I am and not feel like I want to cry into my pillow. So, I would take that as two wins."  
"I would have to agree."  
"I can't believe I didn't tell you about her," he said, looking a little guilty.  
"You can tell me about her now, if you want."  
"I can?"  
"Yes. Come here," he crawled up the bed, propping the pillows up and settling into his. Patrick joined him, leaning against the headboard. "What was she like?"  
"She was amazing," he said easily. "And sweet and happy, she went after everything she wanted, whenever she wanted it. Didn't care what anybody thought of her. I wanted to be her when I was little. Still do a bit," he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and sighed. "I don't like talking about her being sick, she had a whole life before that. Talking about what it was like when she was dying doesn't talk about how she had enough books to open a library, or how she watched old black and white movies over and over."  
"You're good at details, I don't think I even know Alexis' favourite movies."  
"Alice's was The Godfather; she could recite it from memory," he watched the fond grin on Patrick's face as he remembered. "And her favourite colour was blue, and she loved dogs despite being very allergic to them. She loved The Beatles, had a cartoon walrus tattooed on her thigh because of them."  
"That's a very old reference that I'm pretending I don't get."  
"God, she would have loved you."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah; dark hair, dark eyes. Exactly her type."  
"Lucky me."  
"I don't know, she left a trail of broken hearts. You would have never recovered, that was the effect she had on guys."  
"Must be a Brewer thing."  
"Obviously," he said, looking down at their joint hands. "When she was a kid, she loved Ninja Turtles, so when she was three and my parents told her she could pick a middle name for the little brother she didn't really want, she -"  
"Picked Michelangelo," David finished. "That's the kind of older sibling game I aspire to."  
"She's not even alive and she still gets people to make fun of me whenever I have to tell them my whole name, it's not fair," he said, laughing shortly. "This is nice. It's nice to talk about her."  
"We can talk about her whenever we want. God knows you have listened to all my family stuff without a single complaint, so."  
"I can still hear how she would snort when she laughed, her voice. I talk to her sometimes," he said quietly after a moment.  
"Oh, I just thought you were insane."  
"Well," he shrugged. "Thank you for listening."  
"Thank you for telling me."  
He kissed his forehead, unaware that he could feel any closer to him, but feeling it anyway.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The sun beamed through the gap in the curtains, casting a strip of light over a sleeping David. As was typical of most mornings, Patrick was awake first, so he watched the rise and fall of David's back as he took in deep, slow breathes. The motel beds aren't exactly known for being spacious, at least that was David's excuse for needing to sleep half on top of him, an arm and a leg thrown over him, his cheek resting on his chest. Not that Patrick was complaining, though he could do without the wet spot of drool on his shirt.  
Just as if he knew he was being watched, David began to stir awake. As much as Patrick loves daytime David's bright eyes and quick wit, just awake David might have been his favourite; sleepy and sweet and so, so achingly beautiful, Patrick had no other choice but to watch him for a while.  
Not that he needed a choice; he had fallen in love with every version of David that he'd met.  
"Morning," he murmured, lips in David's hair.  
"Morning," his voice is always soft when he wakes up, quiet in a way that he rarely is later in the day. When he propped his chin up on Patrick's chest, he watched him with a small smile.  
"Your face looks better," he said, his finger tracing over David's face lightly, the red marks still there but definitely faded from last night.  
"Really? I'm not ugly anymore?"  
"You were never ugly," he kissed the tip of David's nose, enjoying the way his face screwed up as he did it.  
"Morning breath."  
"Bedhead."  
"Shh, you have to be nice to me," he rolled onto his back and Patrick noted the way he grinned when he crawled on top of him, settling between his thighs. "I've had a very traumatic time."  
"Poor baby. Need me to kiss it better?"  
"I think that might help," he nodded, his leg wrapping around Patrick's thigh in an effort to pull him closer.  
Usually, they would never do this here, the motel room always busy with a sister or a parent. Last night though, Alexis had a girls night at Twyla's, and Mr. and Mrs. Rose were having a night at the Schitt's cabin, leaving the motel blissfully quiet. They kissed properly for the first time that morning, and it still startled him every time how much he wanted David, how quickly he became breathless and overwhelmed. No matter how often they did this, David's hands in his hair and gripping his neck, his lips moving against his, his body soft but solid under him, devastated him in the most perfect way every time. The feeling was reciprocated, it seemed, because only a few minutes passed before David's fingers were scratching at his back, scrambling to pull Patrick's white t-shirt off.  
"Yours too," he said, almost panting as he sat up on his heels to pull his shirt off the rest of the way. When he watched David pull the bottom of his shirt up and over, he stopped him when the collar was at his nose, the rest of the shirt over his head, and added, "maybe leave it there, so I don't have to look at," he stopped, gesturing at David's rashy face, barely suppressing his laughter.  
"Oh my God," he groaned, throwing his discarded shirt at Patrick's head. "You said it wasn't that bad."  
"It's not. It's not that bad, you just look a little like you might start singing Music Of The Night at any moment."  
"I don't know what that means," David dragged him down and kissed him again, probably trying to shut him up.  
"Phantom of The Opera," he mumbled between kisses. David pinched his shoulders between his fingers, his nails digging into his skin, and laughed into the crook of Patrick's neck.  
"Is it really awful?"  
"No. You're still unfairly good looking."  
That seemed to be enough for David, because he tugged Patrick down again, still giggling between kisses. Patrick didn't know that it could be like this; he didn't know that kissing and touching and sex could be funny and ridiculous and still so, so good. It had never been like this for him, and now he felt silly for thinking you were meant to feel weird and kind of sad after. Sometimes during.  
"David!" a voice called behind him, sudden and loud and punctuated by a door swinging open. "David. Oh, hello, Patrick."  
"Good morning, Mrs. Rose," he said, voice high even to his own ears. He pulled the blankets around his shoulders, suddenly very award of the blush he could feel heating his face and chest. Probably his back and ears too.  
"Get out," David hissed.  
"Just wanted to invite you for breakfast at the cafe," she said, seemingly unaware of the fact that Patrick was shirtless and currently on top of her son. "Alexis will be joining us, too."  
"No, thank you, we're good," David said, trying his best to wave her out of the room with both his hands.  
"Did you ask him?" Johnny Rose asked, coming into the room behind Moira. He stopped when he saw them, eyes widening. "Good morning, Patrick."  
"Morning, Mr. Rose," he said, hoping that someone would pull the fire alarm or set a swarm of locusts loose in the motel or just kill him.  
"Oh, my God," David covered his face with his hands, voice muffled. "I don't want to go for breakfast. Get out."  
"Alexis is going."  
"I told him that, John, he's just being very unappreciative."  
"Can you not see that we are half naked? Get out!"  
"Patrick, you know you're more than welcome to join us," she said because, apparently, that was the problem at hand. "The more the merrier."  
"Get out."  
"How about we meet you there in twenty minutes?" he asked, hoping that that would make everyone happy and bring this moment to an end.  
"Perfect," Moira clapped, allowing her husband to guide her out of the room by a hand on her hand. When the door shut behind them, Patrick collapsed onto David.  
"God."  
"My parents just saw you shirtless."  
"We don't have to talk about that."  
"Nipples and everything."  
"Stop it," he whined, pulling the blankets over his head. "How am I meant to go to breakfast now? Your Dad, at least, knew what we were doing."  
"A, you were the one that said we would go to breakfast with them."  
"I just wanted them to leave!"  
"Two, Mom will take her pill and forget that this happened by lunch, and Dad has seen me in much more compromising positions than this and has literally never brought it up again, so I think we'll be fine."  
"You just said 'A' then 'two,'" he whispered, turning his head to rest his cheek on David's chest. "You think so?"  
"Yes," he tugged the blankets down to Patrick's back, patting the back of his head comfortingly as he spoke. "Anyway, they already like you, probably more than they like me, so I think you're good."  
"I don't know how anyone could like someone more than you," he said, pressing his lips to David's chest. "You don't seem too upset anymore."  
"I am, but you're upset, too, so," David said with a shrug. Patrick angled his head up and David's lips met his. "Also, we're going to play a game later to cheer me up," he shimmied his shoulders, making Patrick sit up again.  
"What kind of game?" he asked, very much liking how that sounded.  
"The game where you buy me four bottles of wine and watch me drink them until I'm not upset."  
"Is that followed by the game where I take you to an AA meeting?"  
"Yes. Hot."  
"You're a little bit ridiculous, you know?" he asked, feeling ridiculous himself when he felt the grin threatening to split his face. "You're really okay?"  
"I'll be fine. Like I said, this isn't the first time this had happened to me. Actually, this isn't even the first time this had happened to me in this room."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah, a while ago with Jake," Patrick groaned, pressing his face against David's shoulder. "You asked!"  
"I know, you could've lied to make me feel better."  
"Fine," he grinned. "It was a while ago with some guy, I don't even remember his name, but I do remember that he was ugly and very bad in bed."  
"I bet."  
"And his body? Ew."  
"Okay, that's enough, David."  
"The guy I'm seeing now is much better," he grabbed Patrick's biceps, stopping him from moving any further and pulling him back in.  
"Practically a supermodel," he snarked.  
"You're perfect," David said, voice quiet and so honest, making another blush spread from Patrick's cheeks to his chest.  
"Yeah, I mean, obviously," he scoffed. It wasn't that he was particularly self-conscious when it came to his body, he was never going to be a big, muscled gym bunny and that's fine. People were different and he knew that, but when he looked at David's ex's he couldn't help but feel a little insecure.  
"I mean it," David said, kissing the flush on his chest, then up over his collar bone, and biting his neck gently. "I literally would not change one single thing."  
"Oh, that's, uh," he stuttered, finding it very hard to find words with his boyfriend's mouth under his ear and his hands pulling him down even closer. "I wouldn't change a thing either."  
"About yourself? That's very vain."  
"You know what I mean," he said, David's smile making it hard to kiss him.  
"If we," David tried, interrupted by Patrick's mouth. "If we happen to be, like, ten minutes late for breakfast, they probably wouldn't even notice."  
"You're so smart."  
"Beauty and brains. You're very lucky."  
"I am, aren't I?" he looked down at him, taken aback for a minute as he often was when it came to David.  
"What?" he asked, bristling sweetly under his gaze.  
Tell him, he thought. You love him, tell him, tell him, tell him.  
"Nothing," he whispered, ducking his head and kissing him.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
It didn't matter to him if he jumped the gun just a little. For months, he had felt close to bursting every time he so much as thought about David, so overwhelmed by the feeling he had been chasing for as long as he could remember, he couldn't find it in him to care about much else. He didn't care if David said it back in a week or a month or a year, all that mattered right now was that he had told him. There was a tiny part of him that wanted David to just say it back now, but he knew better. David didn't find this easy, he needed to work himself up and do things in his own time. Which was lucky, because Patrick had all the time in the world.  
Not that he needed it; David was back in his arms, kissing him and telling Patrick that he loved him, making everything else fade away.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
When he decided to surprise Patrick, David knew there was a chance he wouldn't be home. But, standing on the doorstep and about three seconds away from yelling through the letterbox, he hadn't taken into account that Ray may also be out God knows where. Which was just his luck, because he seemed to be home every other second of the day when he and Patrick wanted the place to themselves.  
It wasn't until he reached up to grab the spare key off of the top of the doorframe that he noticed it; a hole in the cuff of his sleeve. It was kind of a miracle he hadn't seen in before; he had been in a rush all day and could have missed it when he got ready. Or, he could've done it at work, he had been unloading products most of the afternoon. Whatever the case, he saw it now, and when he slammed the door to Ray's shut behind him, he fleetingly thought about just crumbling into a heap on the floor in the hallway.  
When he had managed to drag himself up to Patrick's room, he flopped onto the bed with a groan, pulling the blankets up to his chin and pressing his cheek into the pillows.  
It was years until he heard Patrick humming to himself as he jogged up the stairs. He stopped in the doorway when he saw David, a frown etching into his face at the same time as a grin.  
"Hey there," he said, head tilted.  
"Hey," he sighed, barely holding his head up long enough to get the word out before slamming it back, this time hiding his whole face.  
"What's the matter, David?" Patrick asked in the condescending voice that David would absolutely never admit made him want to crawl into Patrick's lap and make him hold him for forever, maybe.  
"Nothing," he whined, pouting and turning his head slightly to look at Patrick. "There's a hole in my hoodie."  
"So we've taken to bed," Patrick kneeled on the edge of his bed and looked at him seriously, humouring him.  
"I also have a zit on my chin."  
"Oh my God. Can you stand? Do you need me to call a doctor?"  
"I know you're joking, but I can't afford a dermatologist anymore, so that's very hurtful," Patrick nodded and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "I think I'm just in a state of shock, you know, I don't think it's really hit me yet. I'm just processing."  
"I'm sure," Patrick said. Leaving David to suffer under the blankets, he goes to rummage through one of the draws in the bottom of his dresser.  
"That's fine, just leave me here to fall apart."  
"I'm sure you can wait for just a second until I get back," he pulls out a box with a quiet aha and he quickly jumps up onto the bed next to David, eliciting a disgruntled groan.  
"I don't like you sometimes," he said, definitely meaning it.  
"You should be nicer to me, if you want me to fix your hoodie," after opening the box, he pulls out a needle, already threaded.  
"You want to fix it?" he held up his arm gingerly, letting Patrick examine the small hole.  
"Yes, but I only have white thread, which I'm guessing won't work for you."  
"White is fine."  
"Really?" he asked with a frown.  
"Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?"  
"You're just very ... particular with your clothes."  
"Well, needs must. Whatever that means," he shrugged. Secretly, the thought of having a reminder of how sweet Patrick can be sewn into his cuff was kind of lovely. While he watched as Patrick held his hand gently as the other carefully started stitching up his sleeve, he pressed his grin against Patrick's shoulder and murmured, "I didn't know you could sew."  
"I am a man of many hidden talents," Patrick said, voice quiet as he squinted at his work.  
"Yes, and I thought I had discovered most of them. Now I'm wondering if you secretly, I don't know, bake or upholster furniture or rescue small creatures in shoeboxes."  
"Small creatures in shoeboxes?" he asked, fixing David with a fleeting look of confusion.  
"I'm just saying, it's nice to see your softer side for a change," David teasingly elbowed Patrick's ribs.  
"Yeah, I'm usually such a virile, manly man."  
"Exactly," David said.  
"My Mom taught me when I went to college," he said. Almost done with David's hoodie, he started tying the string tight. "Money was kind of tight at the time, I couldn't afford to buy new shirts on a whim. The thought of me going to classes and interviews with holes in my shirts brought her close to tears, so I let her teach me how to fix them."  
"She sounds sweet."  
"She's the sweetest person I have ever met," he said with so much honesty in his voice it made David wonder if he had ever said something so nice about his own mother. He had, he was sure, but it was probably long repressed by now.  
"I like learning things about you."  
"She also taught me how to make red velvet cake, for the record."  
"And you've never made me any. What is even the point in being your boyfriend?"  
"I'll make you some for your birthday," he kissed David's cheek and smiled when he whined.  
"That's far away.”  
"Fine, I'll make you some whenever you want," they kissed properly then, smiling and grossly happy.  
"I love you," he said, couldn't help it, wouldn't stop himself if he could. Patrick's face softened into something so tender it threatened to break David's heart in half. "What?" he asked, caught somewhere between bristling under the attention of Patrick's gaze and wanting to melt right into him.  
"That's just - That's the first time you've said that first," he fiddled idly with David's newly fixed sleeve as he spoke.  
"Is it?" he asked, feigning ignorance. Patrick hummed, nodding as he pressed slow kisses to David's neck. "You know that's quite a big deal for me."  
"I know, you're so brave," Patrick lifted his head and smiled at him fondly. "I love you too."  
David smiled and enjoyed the sight of white stitches when he wrapped his arms around Patrick's neck.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Hey," Patrick said, looking at David over the screen of his laptop. "I've found something online you might be interested in."  
"Didn't we say no porn in the workplace?" he asked, rounding the desk in the back room and leaning on Patrick's shoulder.  
"You're hilarious," he pushed the screen back a little for David to see. "This is actually birth records for Canada in 1983. Nine. From 1989, is what I was going to say."  
"I was born in 1991, but okay. What am I looking at?"  
"Your middle name is James," he pointed to a spot on the screen and smiled up at David proudly. "Little DJ Rose."  
"We're not doing DJ, Michelangelo."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The party had turned into quite the success. Not that Patrick had ever doubted David's skill, he would never, but putting together a party in like an hour was very impressive.  
David, who was sat between Patrick and Stevie on the edge of the double bed, was arguing about something that was probably petty with his sister where she sat in Ted's lap at the table. He shared a look with Ted, as he often did when they were all together; an unspoken ‘we are dating absolute nightmares, what is wrong with us?’  
It was hard, though, to find it difficult. Maybe it was the wine he had been steadily drinking all evening, but he had literally never found anything easier than loving David. Even when he was driving him absolutely insane with any number of his particular habits, he was enamoured all the time, it was really becoming a problem.  
"What?" David asked, noticing Patrick's gaze.  
"Nothing," he said tenderly, quietly, just for David. "This has been the best year of my life."  
"Best year of your life so far."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
They stumbled back into the car, both looking a little red-cheeked and giddy, and when David looked at himself in the mirror, his hair was pointing in every direction except the one he wanted.  
"We just had sex in the back seat of your car," he said, glancing over at Patrick who had a very pleased grin on his face.  
"I know, I was there," he said, cocky, cute, arrogant asshole that he was.  
"In a parking lot," he looked around and found it, thankfully, empty. "People could have seen us," trying so hard to care and stop the strange sense of pride that was blooming inside of him.  
"Yep," the grin grew and David wanted to bite it right off.  
"I haven't done anything like this since I was, like, maybe nineteen."  
"I've never done anything like this," Patrick looked at him then, disbelieving grin dropping when he leaned in to kiss him.  
"You have a huge hickey on your neck."  
"I know," he started the car, face flushed, eyes wicked. "In need of a generator my ass."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Sheepish smiles and rolled eyes were the only communication they had had in the last few hours. To be fair, the store had been pretty busy since the police officer had left, so they hadn't had much time to chat in the brief lulls between customers.  
The annoyance Patrick had held after the realisation that David had given away a couple hundred dollars worth of product had since been replaced with a sickly feeling in his gut. Thankfully, it wasn't a real hold up, he knew that now. He also knew that the chances of something like that actually happening in Schitt's Creek were probably nonexistent at the most. That didn't stop the what ifs, did nothing to subdue his anxiety when he thought of the same story having a very different ending. All the rational thoughts in the world couldn't clear the others he had, the ones that conjured images of David and Stevie hurt or worse.  
David sidled up next to him then, the toe of his shoes nudging Patrick's ankle and pulling him out of his head and back into the room. Another guilty little grin and he found himself reaching for David without meaning to.  
"You still all huffy with me?"  
"Huffy?" his arms wound around David's waist as David's hands linked behind his neck. "I wasn't huffy."  
"You were huffy."  
"Okay, maybe I was huffy adjacent," David nodded quickly with a barely suppressed smirk.  
"I'm sorry," he said, head angled, mouth turned, looking shockingly not so sorry.  
"You look it," he laughed and gripped him tighter. "There was a moment when you called me," he started and stopped abruptly. "If something had happened to you, David, I don't know -"  
"Nothing's happening to me," David interrupted. Strong hands rubbed his back slowly. "I'm right here."  
"Don't go anywhere, ever."  
"That's a promise I can keep," he leaned back and watched Patrick's face. A wicked grin split his face and he added, "you know I was very scared."  
"Hmm, you're very brave."  
"I know, I think I deserve coffee and carrot cake from Lio's."  
"You know what I think?"  
"No, but I probably won't like it."  
"I think," he said, ignoring his boyfriend's comeback. "Working until you've earned back what you gave away is what you deserve."  
They kissed, and he wasn't worried anymore.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Other than their first kiss, it had been Patrick who took a leap and waited for David to jump after him when he was ready. He sometimes needed a little time, a little nudge to know that he had steady ground to land on. Of course, he always had that with Patrick, but old habits die hard and it wasn't uncommon for David to need some handholding to see that he could trust Patrick with anything and never be disappointed or hurt. It was easier now, though; now he would follow him blindly through whatever Patrick asked him to.  
So, this wasn't something David saw coming. When he imagined them living together, he assumed Patrick would bring it up gently, patiently answering every question or doubt David could think of with meticulous research until David couldn't find anything else to be worried about. But today had been different; Patrick wasn't ready. It wasn't that he was upset per se, he would never be hurt over his boyfriend needing to take things slow, but he couldn't help but feel a little rejected.  
They were back in Patrick's room after a century-long apartment tour, Patrick was reading and slowly sipping his tea and David had the blankets pulled up to his chin, his head hardly visible where it rested in Patrick's soft pillows. It was so quiet that he probably could have heard whatever show Ray was watching downstairs if he really wanted to. He didn't want to, he didn't even want to look at Ray, feeling slightly embarrassed after him hearing that Patrick didn't want to live with him earlier.  
"Hey," Patrick whispered suddenly. "I can hear your wheels turning from up here."  
"My wheels aren't turning," he lied as he peered up at him. He turned his head and kissed Patrick's arm. In turn, Patrick put his book on the nightstand and pushed himself down until he was eye to eye with David. "I'm just thinking."  
"You're just worrying, is more like it. Give me some blanket."  
"No," David pulled it tighter around him and shook his head because he was, in fact, a child. "You don't want to live with me, you don't get blankets."  
"Oh, so it's like that," he kissed David then, slowly, his hand sliding under the blanket to hold David's face. He kept kissing him and kissing him until his arm had snaked under the blankets and wrapped around David, kept doing it until they were laughing against each other's mouths. They grinned when they stopped, their faces still just barely touching and the blanket now tucked over Patrick's shoulder.  
"That was very sly," he was kissed again before he could say anything else.  
"I want to live with you," his smile was gone, leaving in its wake a sweet expression that David found was reserved just for him.  
"You do?"  
"Yes, I really do. I just, I went from living at home to living with Rachel, and then at home and then with Rachel, to living with Ray. I just think it could be important for me to have something that's mine."  
"I see," he whispered slowly.  
"Just for a little while," he added, seemingly trying to reassure him.  
"That seems like a very responsible idea," he said because, honestly, it was. Deciding that day to move in together with no real discussion or plan wasn't the most sensible of ideas, but it had looked so nice when he had pictured it in his head. Mostly, he was excited for less time sharing a bedroom with his sister and more time with Patrick in a space that was theirs. So perhaps David got a little carried away, as he could admit me he sometimes - rarely, though - did.  
"I think about it though," Patrick said in the soothing voice he also saved for David.  
"Think about what?" he asked with a yawn and heavy eyelids.  
"About us. Living together. The future," his hand moved from David's back to the back of his head, fingers scratching through the hair there lightly in the way that always lulled him to sleep.  
"What about it?" another yawn and the battles against the lids of his eyes was lost.  
"I think about the store doing well. I think about it making us enough money to live somewhere nice. Not as nice as you used to have, but maybe a big penthouse, and you can put whatever you want in it, spend years decorating every square foot of it any way you like," he opened his eyes and found his boyfriend looking back at him. "If not a penthouse, a huge house with a huge yard. We'll fill it with stuff from all over the world, whatever you want. It can be covered in black paint if that makes you happy."  
"What about what you want?"  
"That's what I want," he said easily. "I want to make you happy."  
That tore him up, took him by surprise every time, no matter how often Patrick made it clear that he loved him. A new line was drawn in the pattern of his life every time Patrick did this, changing it so completely it almost looked new. This man would paint the world black and gray or build him a new one if he asked.  
"I don't want that," he whispered.  
"Oh," was all Patrick said, his usual confidence so clearly replaced with something less sure.  
"I just want a house big enough for both of us. With enough space for my clothes and an office for you to make sure the store stays afloat long enough for us to pay for it," Patrick's laugh huffed out quietly as David spoke. "And a guest bedroom so that when Stevie comes over for drinks she has somewhere to pass out. And a wall with pictures of us and our family and posters from open mic nights and whatever else you manage to talk me into, because we used to have a gargantuan family portrait and I think this would be much more mortifying but probably so much better, too."  
"That's not mortifying," Patrick said softly with a smile.  
"It doesn't need to be huge, is what I'm saying. I don't need anything like what I used to have, I used to be miserable. It just needs to be nice and have you in it."  
"I think," Patrick said. "That that sounds perfect."  
"Oh. Good."  
"But I'd also like a dog," he teased, using his grip on David to roll him onto his back. When he hovered over him, his face was wicked.  
"No."  
"Please? I always wanted one when I was a kid."  
"Nope."  
"A cat then," he kissed his cheek, then his jaw.  
"You're allergic."  
"That was a lie to get Alexis to stop touching me," his neck twice, then his shoulder.  
"I fucking knew it."  
"We're going to be so happy, David," Patrick murmured gently, surely, a quiet promise. "I want to make you so happy."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The text came at ten thirty, which was surprisingly early given that Stevie had to drive David home from before he texted. It just said _dying. need breakfast_ and they agreed Patrick would pick him up for brunch an hour later. The roads were pretty clear, and he got to the motel a little early.  
After parking his car, he made his way to the motel. Just before he knocked on the door, its neighbour opened, and Patrick found himself met with a striking Mrs. Rose.  
"Wow," Patrick said as he took in the sight of her.  
"Oh, good morning, Patrick," she said. "You're looking awfully spritely this morning."  
"Thank you, Mrs. Rose. I'm here to pick up David, who I hear is slightly less spritely."  
"Yes, last I saw he was falling asleep on dear Alexis," she pulled the rest of her dress out the door, obviously wanting Patrick to ask. The Roses weren't subtle folk.  
"That dress is incredible," he said because, honestly, it was. She looked amazing.  
"Yes, thank you, Patrick," she did a little half spin to show him the back and grinned. "I'm afraid we're star crossed, this gown and I. She's to be returned to London as soon as."  
"I'm sorry to hear that," she looked disappointed but shrugged.  
"If it's meant to be, she'll be back."  
"Well, I hope so," he pulled his phone from his back pocket. "May I? Before it - she has to go?" he waved his phone and she gasped, swatting at his arm.  
"You don't have to do that," she laughed, putting her hand on her hip and smiling down the camera anyway. He snapped a few pictures, watching fondly as Moira moved the dress and tilted her head to get the best angles, until David decided to join them.  
"Ew, what are you doing?"  
"It just so happened I was getting some fresh air as sweet Patrick pulled up," she said.  
"You were just getting some air dressed like this? And that was just a coincidence?"  
"A very happy little accident. And he insisted on pictures," she winked at Patrick so he winked back, prompting a deep groan from you know who.  
"Can we go now? My head is pounding, I need carbs."  
"Take a picture with Mummy first," Moira held out her arm, trying to summon her son.  
"Pass, thank you."  
"Don't be a spoilsport," Moira wailed loudly.  
"I am not taking a picture with the bags currently under my eyes," he shouted, hands gesturing wildly at his face.  
"Well, Patrick will wait while you apply concealer, David."  
"No, just take the thing," David huffed. He crouched under his mother's arm and crossed his across his chest. Patrick took two pictures then looked up at both of them.  
"Okay, David, now try to look less like you're experiencing withdrawal symptoms."  
"Okay, we're done here."  
"Yes, you two go and enjoy your breakfast, you lucky things."  
"Feel free to join us, Mrs. Rose," Patrick said as David took his hand and tried to drag him away. He met his eye and ignored the glare he found there.  
"Oh, I would hate to impose."  
"Would you, though?" David asked, head tilted.  
"The more the merrier."  
"You've twisted my arm," she said, accent as impossible as ever. "We'll meet you there."  
"Great," David sighed as she shut the door. "You know what I wanted this morning?"  
"Breakfast, I bet," Patrick said quickly, their arms swinging between them as they made their way to Patrick's car.  
"Yes, a nice, quiet, carb-filled breakfast with my boyfriend, who would be nice and quiet until my head stops pounding. Now, I have to listen to Mom talk about Bosnia and Alexis talk about some new, life-ending drama about being a boss lady or whatever," they let go of each other when they got to the car, and Patrick must have been smiling dumbly over the roof because David asked, "why are you looking at me like that?"  
"I missed you," he said sincerely. It was dumb, he knew; they had spent many, many nights apart during their relationship. Recently though David had spent every night at Patrick's since he had moved into his own place, and it felt too big there alone. The longer they were together the harder it was on him when they were apart. He shook his head, feeling a little stupid and asked, "did you have fun?"  
"Ugh, I'll tell you about it at breakfast."  
"Okay, I'm buying."  
"Obviously," David said, climbing into the car and shutting the door after him.  
Patrick rested his chin on the roof of his car and pretended he wasn't thinking about buying four gold rings.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
It had started that morning, David thought, though he hadn't actually realised it at the time.  
Patrick greeted him that morning with a kiss the way he always did, and when his arms held David's waist for a little longer than usual, he really didn't think much of it. In fact, he was happy for the extra few seconds. Later, after packing a customers cleanser and aftershave into a paper bag and waving them out of the door, he spent the next ten minutes pressing David against a wall and leaving faint red marks on his neck. The rule of nothing visible at work apparently not extending to David. And when David had said he was going to pick up their lunch from the Cafe, he had been kissed a little breathless before being sent on his way with a quick slap to his ass; they were very, very professional working men.  
Now he was crowded up behind David, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist, lips resting against his sweater-clad shoulder blade. The fingers of his left hand slipped under the hem, nails grazing over the skin of his stomach gently, and when David turned around to kiss him, Patrick beat him to it.  
"You know, you've been very clingy today."  
"Have I?" Patrick asked.  
"Hmm," David hummed. "Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain someone kissing another certain someone?"  
"No, no. Not at all."  
"No, because that would mean that you're jealous."  
"Which I'm not."  
"No, of course not."  
"No," he shook his head, leaning in to kiss the smirk on his boyfriend's mouth.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The whole day had been a blur.  
He had thought that the flirting was harmless, that he would slip Ken's phone number into his pocket and that's how it would end, with a laugh and a little ego boost. But later he was barrelling back towards Schitt's Creek far faster than he had intended and finding it very hard to take his foot off the gas.  
Ken was very handsome. And nice, and funny, and Patrick was sure that there were hundreds of guys that would have loved to have been in his position. But, when he saw Ken walking across the restaurant parking lot towards him, all he could think was _you're not David, this isn't right, this isn't what I want._  
So he left, leaving a slightly confused but understanding man in the glow of the streetlights.  
Now, thankfully, he was with David, sat at the table in his motel room, eating sickly sweet pastries from the lobby.  
"It was very selfless, what you did today," he said, nudging David's shin with his toe.  
"Well, you know me."  
"Oh, I do. That's why I know it wasn't easy, that you were probably tying yourself up into knots while I was gone."  
"No, I was fine," he was staring intently down at the sticky cinnamon coating his fingers. When he looked up and met Patrick's eye, he smiled. "Fine. I may have been a little bit out of control."  
"I promise you, you have nothing to worry about."  
"I don't?"  
"No. I meant it when I said I appreciate it, but I don't want to experiment or be with anyone else. I may not have a lot of experience, but I know what I want."  
"What's that?"  
"You," he said, easy as breathing. "Just you."  
"Well," David said, standing up to sit in Patrick's lap. "I think that can be arranged."  
"I mean it. I'm in this, David, for as long as you'll have me."  
"Hmm, I might hold you to that."  
"Good," he said, kissing David, never more certain of anything else; he only ever wanted him.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"This is the seventh time you've told me this story."  
"It is not," his mother shook her head, probably looking a lot like him.  
"Yes, it is. You told me once the day of the love letter thing with Dad, you told me when you roped me into a dinner with Jocelyn, again when we had breakfast here and Twyla looked like she was levitating behind the counter -"  
"She was not levitating, David, she was stood on a box," she snapped. "Excuse me for trying to spend some time with my only son."  
"Fine, but can we talk about something other than Bosnia, just for the next five seconds, at least?"  
"Fine," she parroted. "How's the store?"  
"It's good," he said, trying to get food out from between his molars with his tongue. "Patrick said we're doing even better than he had projected, so."  
"And how is lovely Patrick?"  
"He's good, too," he said, hating that his mother saw the stupid smile on his face.  
"I don't think I have ever seen you quite so smitten before," she looked over her coffee mug at him accusingly.  
"I am not smitten," he rolled his eyes.  
"I think if I listen hard enough, I can hear wedding bells."  
"Maybe you should get some hearing aids, then."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The storm clouds left behind by the incident with Ronnie were clearing as he shared a milkshake with his boyfriend. Sharing may be a loose description; he had been drinking most of it, but he figured that Patrick knew by now that he wasn't a sharer.  
"We're meant to be sharing this," Patrick said, reading his mind and sliding the glass in front of him. "It's romantic."  
"Hmm, but I've had to deal with grumpy Patrick all day, so I deserve this," he snatched back the milkshake and sucked what was left through the straw.  
"Was I grumpy?" Patrick asked from his seat across the table.  
"Little bit."  
"So grumpy that you deserve another milkshake for putting up with me? That grumpy?"  
"Around that grumpy, I think."  
"Okay," he stood from the table and pecked David's cheek as he passed him.  
As Patrick stopped to order from Twyla, Alexis sauntered through the doors and over to the counter. He watched as she leaned on the counter, frenziedly gesturing with her phone in her hand. Patrick said something to her, and she slapped his arm playfully and laughed, still flirty no matter how long they had been together, or how gay Patrick had turned out to be. Twyla handed something green to Alexis, and two milkshakes this time to Patrick. When they got closer, David could finally hear what they were talking about.  
"How did I not know you had a pop career?" Patrick asked, placing the two milkshakes on the table and sliding into the booth, stopping close to David, his hand coming down to rest on his thigh under the table.  
"I like to keep an air of mystery," Alexis winked at Patrick. David snorted.  
"Is it a career if you only did it to get a TV show and meet David Archuleta?"  
"Stop it, David."  
"Crush was a great song," Patrick said.  
"Thank you, button," she patted the booth next to her, and Patrick pulled himself away from David and sat down next to her. "But, I think you'll find A Little Bit Alexis is better."  
After putting her earbuds in Patrick's ears, she handed him her phone and shot David a very pointed stare. David just watched Patrick, whose expression was changing from expectant to confusion, a frown settling quickly and disappearing just as fast. A wide grin split his face and he began to bob his head.  
"I love it."  
Alexis squealed and swatted his arm again. She pulled one of the earbuds from Patrick and put it in her own ear. David shook his head and wondered, honestly, if Patrick was having hearing troubles.  
"La la la-la-la-la-la," Patrick sang quietly.  
"Oh, my God," David sunk down into the booth and tried very hard to ignore them both.  
"What do you think?" Alexis asked when apparently the song had ended. Patrick handed her back her phone and earbuds and nodded.  
"I don't know how that wasn't number one all over the world."  
"It was actually number seventeen in the Philipines."  
"So close," David said. Alexis kicked his shin under the table.  
"I'm going to buy it," Patrick said, pulling out his own phone. "And set it as my ringtone."  
"No, you're not," he said, pleaded really.  
"I think I have to, David."  
"Yeah, David."  
"That'll take your sales up to, what, fourteen?"  
"Ugh, stop it. You just don't understand us artist types."  
"Yeah. I think I need to write an acoustic cover."  
"Obsessed with that."  
"Please, stop."  
"David, you are such a buzzkill. I'm going to go show Twyla, I think she'd really be into it. She loves that Britney-Taylor-Katy vibe. Thank you, Patrick," she didn't wait for him to answer or move, she just climbed across his lap to go subject Twyla to the monstrosity on her phone.  
"So," Patrick said, setting his phone down and looking at David. "She has no idea she can't sing?"  
"Not a fucking clue."  
"Wow," they laughed quietly.  
David caught Twyla's eye across the room and they shared a knowing grin as she bobbed her head politely.  
"I admire her confidence."  
"Me too," David said honestly.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Are you having some kind of midlife crisis?"  
"I'm not that old, David."  
"You're not that young, either."  
"I'm younger than -" David's glare cut him off quickly. "Some people. Why do you ask?"  
"Because, first, you threw a party where we played spin the bottle in our pyjamas, then you auditioned for what is practically a school musical."  
"Not in a school, but okay."  
"Now, we're playing baseball in a tic-ridden field," he gestured wildly, one of his cheeks full of a hotdog bun. "Are you trying to recapture your youth?"  
"That's exactly what I'm trying to do."  
"Is prom next?"  
"I've already picked out your corsage."  
"It better be elegant."  
"It matches my cumberbund, so," he grinned, leaning in to kiss David's shoulder. "Thank you for doing this today, I know this isn't exactly your scene."  
"What about free food isn't my scene?" he asked, taking another bite of his hotdog.  
"You know what I mean."  
"Hmm," David nodded, then said around a mouthful, "I can be quite sweet when I try."  
"You're always sweet to me," he kissed him again in the same spot, mouth turned up into a grin. He waited until David finished his third - fourth? - hotdog before he spoke again. "Does your back still hurt?"  
"It's okay now, the ice helped."  
"Good," he said. "Because there's something else from high school I've been thinking about."  
"What's that?"  
"Nothing big. I think I might have had several crushes on several baseball players back then, and -"  
"Say no more," David hopped up onto the grass, only stopping to hold his hand out for Patrick.  
It would have been nice, he thought as they linked their fingers and walked away hand in hand, to have had all this back then; to have all the good stuff without the years of turbulence, to have done musicals and baseball and dances without having to be someone else. Instead, he had taken the scenic route and ended up exactly where he wanted to be, just a few years later than he had intended, and turns out that's just fine. And, even though it wasn't prom he wanted to ask David to, he hoped his question would also end with the two of them in suits.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Tucked in a booth at the Cafe, Patrick honestly couldn't remember the last time he had talked so much. It became glaringly obvious when he sat down that he really had been neglecting his parents since he left for Schitt's Creek, and now he just wanted to try and make up for it. So they talked and talked, and he listened keenly to every detail of every story they told of people back home.  
"Do you - I have some questions," his mother said gently after telling him about his cousin's broken arm.  
"You know, I thought you might," he stirred his tea and tried very hard to not be nervous. "Go ahead."  
"How long?"  
"How long what?"  
"How long have you and David been together?"  
"In a few weeks, it'll be two years."  
"Wow," his Dad sighed. "I can't believe it's been that long since you moved away."  
"I know," Patrick shook his head, guilt hot in his chest. "I'm sorry, I should've visited. I just knew that, if I came home, we would have to have this big talk, so I just kept putting it off and -"  
"It's okay," she grabbed his hand where it was fiddling with his spoon. "Did you think we would be upset?"  
"I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I know that you love me, that you want me to be happy. But I just couldn't stand the thought of upsetting you, so I just buried my head in the sand; figured it was easier for all of us if we just didn't talk about it."  
"That's become a bit of a habit for us, I think," his Dad said softly. "Not talking," he didn't seem angry, he just put his hand over both of theirs.  
"Yeah. I'd like that to change."  
"Us too," his mother smiled at him, that Mom smile that reminded him of warm summers at home and his sister's freckled face, and he felt whatever nerves were left slip away from him. "The only thing that would upset us is you being unhappy."  
"I just worry about the two of you sometimes."  
"I know," she nodded, face still smiling. "Why don't you let us do the worrying now?"  
"There's nothing to worry about," he said, smiling back, so glad his boyfriend got them here. "I haven't been this happy in a long time."  
"Let's all stop worrying then," his Dad said, letting go of their hands. "And focus on that."  
"Sounds good."  
"It just means you have two years to catch us up on," she teased. He was about to launch into the story from the beginning, but Twyla interrupted them with a tray of tea and a cup of coffee.  
"David called from the store," she said, balancing the tray on the edge of the table and placing the cups in front of them. "He said he's finishing up and he'll be right over."  
"Thank you, Twyla," she patted his arm and winked as she turned and headed back to her counter. "So, that's Twyla; we think she's some kind of witch but, at this point, we're too scared to ask."  
"I see," his Dad nodded seriously, eyes twinkling. They all laughed easily and Patrick wondered why he ever even thought to be scared in the first place.  
"I promise, I'll tell you everything when David gets here, I just have something I want to talk about first."  
"What's that, sweetheart?"  
"I know that this might be a little overwhelming," he started, letting them finish their sips before saying anything else. "Because you found out about me being gay all of twenty minutes ago."  
"It's been almost twenty-four hours, we're seasoned pros at all things gay now," Dad said, sarcastic in the way he passed onto Patrick.  
"Right."  
"We're going to a march next week."  
"Of course you are," he laughed.  
"What do you want to tell us?" she put a hand on her husband's arm as she asked, squeezing to quiet him and let Patrick talk.  
"It's something I've been thinking about for a while, a long time actually, and I haven't really planned anything yet but," he took a breath, hearing that he was talking too fast but finding it hard to slow down. "I've been thinking about proposing soon."  
"Wow," his Dad breathed, a bright smile spreading across his face.  
"That's so exciting," she covered her mouth with her other hand, her eyes already shining with tears. "When? You have to tell us everything."  
"I don't know yet. Soon, ish. I've been looking at rings and trying to come up with some kind of plan, but nothing feels good enough."  
"Keep it simple," she said. "Personal, something special to you both."  
"That's what I was thinking, but I can't think of anything that fits."  
"When I was thinking about proposing, I planned this whole evening that was going to be perfect; fancy dinner, walk through the park where we first met, all of it," he'd heard this story before a hundred times, but his father had always loved telling it. "Then the waiter spilled soup in my lap and it rained so hard we went home and found the living room flooded."  
"If this is meant to be encouraging -"  
"My point is," he laughed. "I got down on one knee, right there in our swamp of a living room, and none of the rest mattered."  
"So what you're saying is, I should make the perfect plan, and hope something goes horribly wrong."  
"Exactly," his Mom said, flushed with a grin.  
"Shh, watch out," his Dad hushed, nodding towards the door.  
David entered, a summer vision in head to toe black, obviously a little nervous as he waved at them. He thought of the same entrance almost two years ago, an equally anxious David on his birthday looking beautiful in all black, practically buzzing when he sat opposite him. If you had told Patrick then that he would be here, now, with his parents and the love of his life, actually he wouldn't have found that so hard to believe.  
"Why do I feel like I interrupted?" David asked when he stopped next to the table.  
"Na, I was just catching them up on all things Schitt's Creek," he slid over in the booth, making room for David that he quickly filled, knocking his thigh against Patrick's after he sat down.  
"Did you tell them about that time I won the baseball game?"  
"I was just about to."  
They went on like that for hours until Twyla had to kick them out for the second night in a row. His parents listened intently, soaking up every laugh and every word, and Patrick couldn't remember ever feeling so completely peaceful.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"You don't need to look so frightened, David."  
"I'm not frightened, I just don't think we need to add more stress to what was already a stressful couple of days."  
"The days ended perfectly, let me do this for you."  
He was standing at the end of his bed, guitar in hand, looking at David with such a glint in his eye that David fought the urge to pull the blankets over his head.  
"I promise, you'll love this."  
"Why don't we just go to sleep, huh? Get some rest before we do anything rash."  
"I'm holding a guitar, not gun."  
"Is there a difference? Really? Wouldn't we agree crippling second-hand embarrassment is the same as an automatic weapon?"  
"I embarrass you?" Patrick asked. Before David could feel guilty, a cheeky looking grin spread across Patrick's face. "May I remind you of last time I sang to you?"  
"It was beautiful. So why don't we just leave it at that?"  
"I think you're really going to like this. Plus, it's my birthday so I can do what I want."  
"No, technically your birthday was yesterday," he sighed. "Is this really what you want, out of all the things in the world?"  
"Yeah," Patrick said, taking exactly zero seconds to think about it.  
"Fine. Do it quick."  
"Are you ready?"  
"Yes, fine."  
"Let's do it."  
"Wait."  
The guitar started, upbeat and amazing, before David could stop him.  
"I'm a Lamborghini."  
"No."  
"I'm a Hollywood star, I'm a little bit tipsy, when I drive my car," more guitar and David shook his head.  
"Stop this."  
"I'm expensive sushi, I'm a cute huge yacht," he watched as Patrick jumped out of the way of the pillow David threw at him. "I'm a little bit single," he sang, his guitar not faulting as he dodged. "Even when I'm not."  
"You're going to be single, if you keep singing."  
"I'm a little bit."  
"No more."  
"I'm a little bit Alexis."  
He stopped and looked at David with a dumb, dopey, lovely grin and David loved him and hated him in equal measures.  
"I'm breaking up with you," David said after a minute.  
Patrick set his guitar down on his desk and hopped up on the bed. He kissed David hard on the mouth and whispered, "are you?" when he pulled away.  
"No," he said just as quietly, kissing him again.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The motel reception was empty, thankfully, and the front desk was deserted. He was kind of worried David would drop in and surprise Stevie but given that it was only eight, and he had promised to take his mother for breakfast, he hoped they would be okay.  
"Ding ding," he called as he rounded the desk.  
"Hey," Stevie said. He leaned against the office doorframe and watched her read her script.  
"Thought I'd better let you know I was coming in, we don't want someone else to see you topless," she finally looked up and fixed him with a scarily even stare.  
"I told David about that in confidence."  
"You should know better by now," she lifted her stuff from the very old looking couch and made room for him next to her.  
"I'll be ready to go in a sec, I just wanna read this through again," she had a pen behind her ear and the page open in front of her had scribbled notes covering the margins.  
"I was actually hoping we could talk about something," he said.  
"You can give me one of those vintage wines."  
"What?"  
"To apologise for dropping me yesterday."  
"That's not ... Yeah, that's fair," he huffed a laugh. It was honestly; she had landed right on her ass. "That's not what I wanted to talk about, though."  
"What's wrong?" she set her script on the table and turned to face him, her legs crossed under her.  
"Nothing's wrong," he said. "You need to promise not to tell David."  
"Yeah, obviously."  
"I've been thinking for a while, for months honestly," he paused, something close to nerves in his stomach. "About asking David to marry me."  
"Oh," she said slowly. "That's big."  
"You think it's a bad idea?"  
"I think," she said, choosing her words carefully. "That I hope I find someone as good for me as you are for David. And I think that's all I'll say because, if I start crying in front of you, I'll have to down a bottle of pills and end it all."  
"And then Mrs. Rose will kill me for leaving her without a Sally just weeks before we open."  
"Right," Stevie nodded solemnly. "And then David will kill her."  
"And Mr. Rose will kill him, it'll be a whole mess."  
"Right, exactly," she smiled then. "I like this."  
"Really? Because I was hoping for your blessing."  
"My blessing?"  
"I know it's tradition to ask the bride's father. But David isn't a bride, and I don't think he would appreciate it if I asked for permission. And you're his best friend, and I doubt he would ever admit it but your opinion means a lot to him."  
"And no one in that family can keep a secret, so," they grinned and Stevie nodded again. "You have my blessing."  
"Thank you."  
They sat quietly for a minute, Stevie went back to reading her script and Patrick swore he could see tears in her eyes.  
"You going soft?"  
"Shut up, there's just a lot of dust in here."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
It took him a minute to understand why he was so warm, his forehead was dewy and his palms were clammy, but when the fog of sleep left him with the warmth of his fiance pressed up against his back, he found the heat far less stifling. He pushed the blankets down, careful not to jostle Patrick too much, and hooked his arm over it. Patrick's arm was underneath him, slightly uncomfortable but he was far from caring. He linked his ringed hand with Patrick's gently and marveled at the way the light reflected off of his rings, like tiny, shining halos.  
He didn't usually sleep with his rings on; part of his morning routine was deciding which order they would look best in with his outfit, but last night was different. Last night he was a newly engaged man, and you would have had to pry the new ones off of his dead body.  
"You like them?" Patrick's voice was deep from sleep and startled David.  
"I love them," he said, smiling as Patrick kissed the back of his neck.  
"Good," Patrick spooned up even closer behind him and pressed his face between his shoulder blades. "Go back to sleep."  
"I can't, I'm too awake," he turned over and faced Patrick, a very adorable, sleepy Patrick, with ruffled hair and a flushed face. He propped himself up slightly and kissed his temple. Still basically on to of him, his lips ghosting over Patrick's cheek, he murmured, "Can't believe you want to marry me."  
"You're very lucky," Patrick said, voice a gruff groan.  
"Shut up," he fell back into the pillows. He was pulled closer until his head was on Patrick's chest, arms around each other. "I didn't think I would ever get married," he said softly after a moment.  
"No?" he shook his head, cheek still resting on Patrick's chest. "You do want to, right?"  
"Yes, definitely. I just didn't think I would ever get to do it. I thought I'd have to settle for helping Alexis plan hers," Patrick's fingers traced over his arms slowly, drawing invisible circles over and over. "Actually, I thought I would plan several for Alexis."  
"From what you've told me about her life, that makes a lot of sense," he kissed David's head. They laid quietly together for a moment, Patrick looking at David's rings, David looking at Patrick.  
"You want to, too, don't you?"  
"You realise I was the one who asked, David?"  
"I do. I just want to make sure you're doing this for the right reason," there was something unspoken in his words, something he didn't want to say and ruin the moment, pop the perfect bubble they were in.  
"I literally can't think of anything else I want more," he said, understanding him completely. As usual. "I want this," he squeezed David tight. "Forever. I can't wait to marry you."  
"Oh," David grinned. "That's okay then, I think I can do that."  
"Great, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you," he kissed David hard on the mouth after he spoke, his fingers scratching through the hair on the back of his head. He sighed when Patrick pulled away. "I have to go soon."  
"No," David whined, sliding a leg over Patrick's thigh, trying hard to keep him in place. "Stay with me."  
"I can't."  
"But we're celebrating."  
"We celebrated twice last night, I'm sure you can wait until later," he slipped out from under David's cocoon and stretched his arms as he stood up. "Plus, I think your mother will join us if I'm late for our last minute run through."  
"That's horrific, I'm taking back my yes, I think we should see other people."  
"Too late, you're stuck with me."  
"Promise?" he asked. Patrick didn't answer, kissing him with a smile instead.  
After watching Patrick walk away, he started looking through the picture they had taken the day before, most of them blurry selfies of David crying and Patrick laughing at him. He didn't mind that, no one else would ever see those anyway. Settling into bed, he found the ones people would see, the ones with Patrick looking at him in a way he was sure no one else had ever even thought to.  
For the first time in a long time, possibly ever, there were no doubts, no second thoughts, no hesitation; he was in this with everything in him, and when his fiance came back to bed with champagne and a smile, David knew he was, too.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
He felt like he had barely had the chance to catch his breath since yesterday. It had been an amazing two days, two of the best of his life, but he was quietly glad of the chance to just sit for a minute. He was finally free of all of his Emcee makeup and was propped up against the pillows in David's bed. The motel was, for once, quiet; Mr. Rose had managed to convince Mrs. Rose to leave the closet and go to bed, David was showering, and Alexis was taking pictures of her Cabaret makeup.  
Watching her reminded him of his own pictures, so he grabbed his phone from the foot of the bed and opened the most recent one. Stevie had taken it earlier, David had his arm around his shoulder, dumbs grins on both their faces, Patrick's eyes still lined with leftover eyeliner. The four before that one were all from Cabaret; Alexis had snatched his phone and took a selfie of the two of them, their faces close to the camera and to each other, beaming proudly after the show. He had taken one of Stevie without her knowing - a candid, David would say - in her Sally attire, looking nervous but lovely, not that he could ever tell her that without months of ridicule. The next was of him with all the dancers, Alexis perched on the edge of his knee, Twyla leaned her elbow on his shoulder and her head on her hand, the others posing around them. The last Alexis had taken, too, but before the show; he was sat in the makeup chair, freshly transformed into Emcee looking at David in the mirror, who was leaning on the back of his chair, inspecting his makeup with a grin. Alexis was in the background, one hand holding his phone, the other in a peace sign. That was his favourite.  
"Oops," Alexis said pulling his attention from his phone and back into the room. She was shimmying over to him with two flutes of champagne. She handed him one and knocked hers against it. "Congratulations," she sat herself next to Patrick up against the headboard of her brother's bed and grinned at him.  
"Thank you," he grinned back.  
"Although it's very rude for you to do this right when I'm about to leave for six months."  
"I'm sorry, I should've planned my engagement around your schedule."  
"Yes, exactly," they shared another smile and fell into silence. Not uncomfortable, just uncharacteristic for Alexis and, when he caught a glimpse of her face, he saw her biting her lip and frowning.  
"You okay?" he asked quietly.  
"Mhmm, yep, hundred percent," she said completely unconvincingly.  
"What's wrong?" she was playing with the hem of her dress nervously and didn't answer. "You missing him?"  
"He just left, I'll see him in a week," she waved her hand dismissively. She glanced towards the bathroom door and all at once understood.  
"Oh, not him," he said quietly. "Him," he nodded towards the bathroom and Alexis groaned quietly.  
"I don't know what's wrong with me; I used to leave him all the time, it's not a big deal."  
"You're closer now."  
"Yeah," she said and shook her head. Her smile returned and Patrick felt somewhat less worried. "Just don't let him plan the whole thing without me; you're wedding will look like if Mariah Carey had a scene phase."  
"You know we'll wait for you to come back, right? We won't get married without you here, you're his sister."  
"I got married without him."  
"What? When?"  
"Long story; Jean-Michel was a very nice man."  
"Okay, one day, I am going to sit you both down and make you tell me all of your long stories."  
"I will do that if you make sure David sends me wedding plans while I'm gone."  
"Deal," Alexis held up her pinkie, and Patrick linked it with his.  
"Anyway," she said turning her torso to face him straight on. "How long have you been planning this? Because I knew when you were dancing after all that with your parents and you were looking at each other all -"  
"Oh, my God," he interrupted her, a hot, sick-like feeling at the back of his neck.  
"What?" her eyes were impossibly wider and the term a deer in headlights made a lot more sense to him.  
"I haven't told my parents."  
It seemed impossible that he forgot; he texts them most days, every other at the least, and they call all the time. But he had been so excited to tell everyone and so nervous about the show and the day just got away from him.  
"Go call them," she practically shoved him off the bed and took his glass from him.  
"It's almost midnight, they might be asleep," he pulled on David's discarded sweater despite his words.  
"I don't think they'll mind," she waved her hands in a shooing motion, somehow not spilling either drink; practice, he guessed.  
"Will you let David know where I am when he gets out?"  
"Yep, go."  
Outside was cool and peaceful, the motel lights dimly lighting the otherwise dark night. There was something like nerves fluttering in his stomach, it wasn't bad, though; he felt giddy and almost wired.  
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" his Mom's voice was worried when she answered his call. "Why are you calling so late?"  
"Nothing's wrong, Mom, everything's great," he assured quickly. "Really great actually."  
"Oh, good. That's good."  
"Is Dad there?"  
"Yeah, he's asleep in his chair."  
"That sound about right," he smiled when his Mom laughed. "Will you wake him up? Maybe put me on speaker?"  
"Sure, give me one minute," the phone was quiet, then he heard the low sounds of his father's voice as he woke. "Okay, he's awake."  
"Just about," his Dad said. "How's it going?"  
"Good, good. I'm sorry to call you late, I just have some news," he said. It was then David joined him, hair wet and sleepy-looking. He grinned and grabbed Patrick's hand. "Remember when we had breakfast when you guys were here?" he asked. David frowned.  
"Yeah," his parent's said at the same time.  
"Do you remember what we talked about before David joined us?" they were quiet for a minute, and when Patrick turned to David he was met with teary eyes.  
"Oh. Oh, you asked -"  
"Yep."  
"Oh, Patrick," her voice was high again, happy now. "Oh, Patrick, that's so wonderful."  
"Are you crying?"  
"No," she sighed.  
"Yes," his Dad said, laughing. "Congratulations, kid."  
"Thanks, Dad," he gripped David's hand tighter. "You're alright with all of this? I feel like I came out all of fifteen minutes ago, I know this might be kind of -"  
"Are you happy?" Clint Brewer was an emotional man, and his voice could never hide it.  
"More than I've ever been," he said and meant it more than he could say.  
"Then this is just kind of the best news I've ever heard."  
"Oh," and now he was welling up, great. "I'm glad you think so."  
"Is David there?"  
"Yes, yes. You want to talk to him?"  
"If that's okay."  
"You good to talk to them?" he asked, holding the phone to his chest. David didn't answer, just took the phone from him.  
Patrick just watched. Watched the love of his life talk and laugh with his parents, watched him gesture and tell the story of the last two days, watched him pace slowly while he recalled every detail.  
"He did the whole thing; made a speech, got down on one knee. He cried, I definitely might have, I don't remember. Yeah, it was perfect," he nudged Patrick's foot with his own. "You can visit whenever you'd like," he was nodding along with whatever they were telling him. "I'll let you go now, sorry he woke you. Okay, bye."  
"Might have cried?" Patrick asked when David handed him back his phone.  
"They like me," David said, arms wrapping around Patrick's shoulders.  
"They have good taste," they kissed quickly, David's lips were minty from toothpaste and Patrick guessed his tasted faintly of booze.  
"I'm just glad one of us has a mostly normal family, I've been wanting to tell someone about it all day."  
"I know. I'm sorry none of this went as you planned," he gripped him tighter.  
"Honestly, I don't care. We're getting married."  
"Speaking of, I may have promised Alexis that you would include her in wedding planning while she's away."  
"Why would you do that?"  
"I think she's worried about being left out. Plus, she's your sister, she should be involved."  
"So you want us to be wearing like suits made of feathers, you'll probably have an earring, I'll definitely have a healing crystal around my neck, we'll be on a beach or -"  
"I'll marry you anywhere," he said and kissed him again.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"When did you know?" David asked out of nowhere, breaking the silence that had fallen over the store since the last customer left ten minutes before.  
"Going to need just a little more information there, David," he said, looking up from where he was arranging the new facial oils to where his fiance sat on the table facing away from him. He was perched up on his spot, the one where Patrick had been tricked into applying eye cream in what was a very subtle ploy to get more kisses out of him. It had worked, obviously.  
"That you wanted to marry me," he said, still not looking at him, though Patrick could see his ringed hand twisting on his knee, catching the light beautifully. "Like, how long have you been planning this?"  
"That's two different questions, with two different answers," he abandoned the facial oils and rounded the table, filling the space David made when he parted his thighs for him.  
"Really?" he asked, blushing when Patrick started kissing along the line of his jaw. Patrick just hummed his affirmation against his stubbled skin. "Tell me."  
"I started planning pretty much the minute my parents left," he pulled back but stayed close, his face almost touching David's. "Measured your rings, asked for Stevie's blessing, planned the perfect, smoothly executed proposal."  
"Absolutely," David nodded, wrapping his arms around Patrick's neck to draw him in and kiss him, smiling as he did.  
"But I knew for a long time before then," he gripped David's thighs tightly, wanting to pull him even closer.  
"When?"  
"When I listened to your voicemails more times than I would like to admit," he said, only partly teasing. "When you'd known me for a few weeks and told me I had a clean mouth. When you kissed me in my car and I felt like the whole world had changed. When you cried at open mic night. When I spent a few days without you and basically forgot how to breathe," David squeezed his shoulders, shaking his head just a fraction. "I knew when you did your best Tina Turner right here, in the store where anyone could see but just for me. I knew when you planned a baby shower for Jocelyn - you hate babies. I knew from the minute you told me you loved me that I was in this, really in this. I could give you a thousand more examples, but I've always known. Even when I didn't know I knew, I knew."  
David stopped him then, didn't give him a minute to breathe, just gripped the back of his head and kissed him hard. They probably could have carried on like that for hours, but the bell chimed above the door and Patrick jerked away from him.  
"Welcome to Rose Apothecary," Patrick greeted brightly. The customer smiled at him  and started looking at the perfumes on the wooden shelves.  
"Typical," David whispered just loud enough for Patrick's ears.  
"Later," he whispered to David, winking at him and starting towards the customer.  
He wasn't too put out by the interruption; they had the rest of their lives, after all.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The barbecues, David decided, got better every time. The first was a disaster better left unspoken about, in his opinion, so it wasn't that hard for the next after the baseball game to be better. The victory over Roland also helped, he supposed.  
Now he was sat up on the picnic table behind the motel, his feet resting on the bench in front of him, an empty plate next to him, watching as his family flitted around him like only somewhat annoying flies. His Dad and Clint were manning the grill, Mom and Stevie were in chairs under a parasol, a new friendship based on community theatre and translucent skin, he guessed. Patrick had been stood with his Mom, his arm around her shoulder, heads close, as they spoke, but now he was waving at David, pointing as Marcy made her way over to him.  
"I got you something," she said, sitting on the picnic bench and looking up at him.  
"You didn't have to get me anything."  
"No, I know. It's not really something I got, just something I already had," she paused, smiling as she watched Patrick, now at the grill talking with both the Dads. Slowly, she pulled a little box out of her jacket pocket, sliding it into David's hand, all the while watching as her son was preoccupied. David opened it, revealing a silver wedding band.  
"Oh," David said, running his finger along the kaleidoscope engraving.  
"It was my Dad's. He and my Mom were married for fourty seven years and, before he died, he told me to give this to Patrick when he got engaged," she put her hand over the box, obscuring it from Patrick's view when he waved at them. "I know it might not be your taste, it's a little old fashioned. But I thought maybe you could give it to him, or he could give it to you, whatever you'd like."  
"I think it's stunning," he said honestly, stopping her before she spoke herself out of breath. "He'll love it."  
"You think so?"  
"I do," he nodded quickly. "And, I just have to ask because if I don't I'll just think about it until I drive myself crazy -"  
"I didn't give it to Rachel," she said, reading his mind and smiling sweetly. "If that's what you're asking."  
"You didn't?"  
"No," she looked thoughtful for a moment. "We loved Rachel, very much," David looked away, unsure whether he actually wanted to hear this, and didn't turn back until Marcy patted his knee. "But call it a mother's intuition."  
"Did you know?"  
"Not all of it," she said slowly. "But something changed in him a long time ago, and I look back now and everything makes a little more sense."  
"What are you two talking about?" they both looked up and Patrick was walking towards them, beer in hand. David snapped the box shut and shoved it into his pocket.  
"Wedding stuff," Marcy said quickly.  
"Am I going to be involved in any of that?"  
"I wouldn't count on it," he said, shaking his head. "You're not known for your taste, no offense."  
"Thank you," he rolled his eyes and turned to his mom. "Dad is summoning you; apparently you have an old photo of Rose Video to show Mr. Rose?"  
"Oh, I do," she hopped up off the bench, pushing away and over to the grilling men.  
When David turned his attention to Patrick, he was met with studying eyes and a small, charming smirk, his cheeks flush and his hand reaching out to rest on David's thigh.  
"Why are you looking at me like that?"  
"What? I'm not allowed to admire my fiance?"  
"Oh, yes, you can do that," they smiled as they kissed. When they pulled apart, Patrick looked at him again, head slightly tilted, teeth biting into his lip as he grinned.  
"Stop it. What is wrong with you?" Patrick leaned in and laughed into his neck, free and a little wild.  
"Nothing," he shook his head when he straightened up, still leaning in close to him and smiling. "It's just nice, knowing I have everything I've ever wanted, and now I get to have it for the rest of my life. You know?"  
"Yes," he murmured. "I do."  
He looked up at Patrick, at the sun on his face and his little grin, and knew exactly what he meant. The smile grew as David watched him, gentle and bright, and as he watched he felt like he could swallow the sun whole. He knew now what he had been needing all his life and he had it now; nothing but Patrick and Patrick and Patrick.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
When he woke up, the bedroom was too warm, his t-shirt clung to him and sweat had beaded on his forehead. As he turned onto his side, he realised it wasn't the room, it was David, swaddled over him with his head pressed into his neck.  
His arm wound around David's back, his hand coming up to rest between his shoulder blades. There was a snore strip across his nose so he was quiet for once, his face peaceful, and if it weren't for is heavy eyelids, he probably could have watched him like that for hours, not wanting to miss anything by closing his eyes. He felt a little ridiculous even thinking it, so he let his eyes close and squeezed David closer. He could just relax now, he didn't need to spend every second looking out to make sure everything was perfect, he could just enjoy it, sure in his knowing that everything was right.  
He could stop looking now; he'd found it.


End file.
